Blood of Malice - Frodo's Perspective
by Sev Baggins
Summary: Frodo's view on the story Blood of Malice. Frodo Baggins lives a docile life in the Shire, until he meets a frightened, sarcastic girl living under a log near his home. After a friendship of 13 years, Frodo finally realizes he feels something more for her. She becomes his closest companion as they journey to destroy the One Ring. No sex scenes, slash, graphic violence, or swearing.
1. Black Eyes

**Here's Frodo's version. Probably a little better for quality than Sev's, but I'm not sure. XP I'm looking at it not very objectively! :)**

As were most days in the Shire, this one looked bright and clear with no reservation to it. The hills were green, the flowers were open, and the world was simple. Frodo couldn't mind it, of course; while the Shire seemed beautiful, he'd seen it every day and could stand to read a book once in a short time. He could escape the mainstream, however lovely it may be, and enter his mind. Although battles were fought in his head he felt peace there. Even though conflict stood prevalent he felt more contentment in a novel than outside at home.

Just as he'd reached the climax, he could hear Sam calling to him. The single blade of long grass in his mouth twisted as he glanced up.

"Frodo! Frodo, where are you?"

Frodo thought about responding . . . but considered that Sam sounded far enough away that he wouldn't hear a reply. So Frodo turned back to his book, waiting for the other hobbit to find him. Frodo's eyes flickered past the next little bit. It happened to be a kissing scene, and he did not care for them.

Finally Frodo spotted Sam in his peripheral as he prepared to leap over a nearby log. But as his friend neared, Frodo spotted a movement under said log. A girl crouched in the shadows, eyeing Sam while he approached.

"Frodo!" Sam called.

"I'm over here," Frodo replied, staring under the log. He set his book down carefully as the wide, pale eyes from under the log turned to him. They stared out from underneath a tangle of dark, curly hair, right at his eyes. The strange girl seemed to study him.

Admittedly this intrigued him. And it frightened him. She looked so dark underneath those shadows. He smiled, and the girl recoiled almost imperceptibly.

Sam leaped over the log, and Frodo's gaze broke away for a moment. Sam looked excited; something must have happened with Rosie.

"Frodo, I finished the flowers! I thought you might want to come and see."

Frodo nodded and reluctantly set his book aside to follow Sam. Exactly as he had predicted, it had everything to do with Rosie, and little to do with the actual appearance of the Baggins yard. They rounded in a circle around the log, and the girl's stare followed them cautiously, as though Sam, or possibly even Frodo, would reach down and bite.

Frodo turned his gaze away only for a second, just to see what she would do. The moment he looked back, he slowed. The girl had sprang from beneath the log and raced to his book. She studied it, reading the first few pages. Her eyes glimmered hungrily as she inspected the words, and Frodo stopped to watch.

Hobbits never did that.

This girl truly was strange.

And he somehow liked it.

Then the girl's eyes snapped up, challenging Frodo to either come or go. She crouched and dashed back under the log with the book in her hands. Frodo almost thought he heard a growl. He just smiled again, turning to follow Sam, even though he knew the way back to Bag End. He didn't feel like being left alone with the log girl. He didn't know if she would bite; he didn't recognize her, and she didn't look normal. He'd noticed black veins in her eyes, and shivered at the memory.

The next day Frodo came back. His book lay on the ground by the tree where he'd left it. Apparently she'd finished it, or at least had put it back. He peered under the log, even approached it cautiously, but she had gone.

He glanced up when he heard a rustle. The girl's eyes peeked out from behind a nearby tree, and she flicked her eyes to the log. She'd been visibly shaken, swaying back and forth with a heartbeat moving ridiculously fast.

Frodo crept toward her, approaching slowly. Her eyes widened. The blood in her eyes really seemed black, faint though it was, and seemed to be receding for fear. As he neared, the girl tensed. She scrambled away when he got close enough to touch her. He called out for her, but she had vanished.

He turned around, only to see her feet disappear under the log. He left her alone after that, but heard other people saying how they had seen her prowling around. Some speculated that she would go away, others thought she didn't truly exist. Frodo wondered who she was; no one seemed to know.

Try as he might, Frodo could either never remember to go look, or suddenly didn't have the urge to talk to her. Even if the urge existed, it soon gave way to excuses and fear.

He saw her once in a while, and spoke to her from a distance. Her face immediately began to gray, and she would dash under the log, staring back at him with wide eyes. He tried to approach sometimes, with no success.

For five years, it evaded him. It didn't occupy all of his thoughts, so most of the time he didn't really mind. But whenever he saw her, he realized something was pulling to him, something about the way her darkness seeped around. It needed help.

Then, when he was almost twenty-five, Sam finally saw her. Frodo was watching her, and Sam followed his gaze. Frodo had been distracted; Sam was frustrated that Frodo wouldn't listen to him.

"What is that?" Sam asked. He bent down to glance under the log. The girl stiffened, recoiling.

Frodo smiled initially. "One of us, Sam." He stared down as well, although maintained his distance. His hands began to shake. Five years, and it had all come down to good old Sam. "Do you want to come out now?" he asked. His voice quivered; he hoped she couldn't smell fear.

Sam was rather brazen about it. He knelt down right next to the wall. "Well, what are you doing down there if you're a hobbit?" Sam held out his hand. "Come out."

Frodo was hopeful for a moment, but the girl growled and ducked away. Sam tried to coax her further, but Frodo had to crane his neck as she folded into the corner of her hole. Sam gave up right then. He sat back and sighed. "It's no use, Mr. Frodo. Better luck next time."

Sam seemed afraid, too. He quickly got up and walked away. At least Sam was a sweet-hearted soul, Frodo decided. He knelt down by the log and put his own hand out. The girl had unfolded a little bit. He could feel warmth emanating from her skin; it was simply unnatural, at such a distance as that, and it surprised him.

"What's your name?" He couldn't believe he was finally asking this creature a question, talking straight to her and expecting a response.

"Seville."

Frodo blinked. Her voice was low, and somehow not deep. He almost had been expecting her to outright hiss and run away. But her eyes glowered with a dark fear; she would not run away, but she might not take his hand either.

He should have asked a more useful question, probably should have pulled her out right then. However he said, "Seville . . .?" He wanted a last name with that, find out where she lived. If anywhere.

"I don't have a last name." She was very abrupt, and sounded scared. Frodo could see her shaking. Then he realized her hair, while like a typical hobbit's in curl, was red. He wondered if it would be red in the sunlight, or if she really was a demon like some said, and it made the transition to brown up close. Her eyes were murky blue.

He gathered he ought to introduce himself.

"I'm Frodo."

Her eyes raised to look fully at him, and her hand stretched out. Her fingers were long, and her veins were gray. Pale skin, quivering, emerged into the sunlight and snaked towards his hand. The moment her skin graced his, though, she hissed and backed away. Frodo stood abruptly, shocked by the contact. Her hand was soft . . . and as had been before implied, very warm. He'd been expecting scaly, somehow. Not so. Confused, he backed away and waved to her as he went.


	2. 13 Years and a Dance

The next day he tried to initiate conversation. This was becoming an adventure relative to life in the Shire, and it excited him. Even if fear was a prevalent factor in the scenario.

"Where do you come from, Seville?" he asked.

She just eyed him for a moment. He turned to walk away, but then he heard her low drawl again.

"I have no family, if that's what you mean. And I have no home."

Frodo turned back to look at her. She flicked her eyes away from him . . . up to his face, then to the ground again. He knelt down by the log, and she stared as he did so. He crossed his arms over the earth and laid his head down on his arms. She shrank away, eyes widening furiously.

"Why not?"

She looked incredulous and irritated. Frodo swallowed, and wondered if she would do anything to him. "Because I'm a disgusting, dark thing," she said, matter-of-fact now. "No one would want me here."

Frodo frowned thoughtfully. "They wouldn't?"

She snorted. "Would you?"

He paused then, eyeing her. Her dress was not from here. In fact, looking closer, he realized it wasn't even a dress. She was wearing leggings, and shoes. Her feet were tiny, although her toes were peeking out. Perhaps her feet were growing. She only looked eighteen or so. And she was wearing a more male-style shirt and vest.

"Yes, I would."

The words escaping his mouth made no sense to him, and they seemed to frighten her.

"That is," he amended—her countenance fell at the beginning of his statement—"I would at least like to see you in the open. I've never really looked at you before."

Seville frowned, but her eyes glimmered. She wanted to come out, and Frodo knew it. He had only to reach in and pull her out.

And so, spurred by heedless-to-logic curiosity, he did.

Seville protested loudly at first, hissing and scrambling back. But the moment Frodo pulled her by the waist (she was light enough that her struggling made no difference) out from under the log, she stopped. He did as well. She was precisely his height; their eyes were nearly level, hers perhaps slightly lower. Then he studied her more closely, and realized her hair looked like fire. Her blood truly was black, and she was watching him as though mystified. Her lips were the most terrifying thing about her, though. Frodo hadn't noticed in the shadow, but he realized they were unnaturally dark. It scared him; she looked like she could bite.

After that, Frodo easily coaxed her into the open. Only soon after he began to call her a friend did she start to warm up to him. So to speak. Frodo was still unnerved by the immediate warmth he felt whenever she neared. It helped, he realized after some time; she couldn't sneak up on him, and he was never caught unawares when neither he nor she knew they were close to each other.

Eventually he accidentally called her Sam. He expected her to be upset with him, but instead she laughed. It was not a beautiful laugh, but it was thrilling to know she was that comfortable.

"I'm sorry," she gasped after a minute. "I'm sorry . . . I can just imagine what was going through your head!"

Frodo paused, then shrugged. "I beg your pardon," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to."

"No, actually." Seville held up a hand. "I would rather you did call me Sam than Seville."

"I can't call you Sam," Frodo said. "I already have Sam."

"Call me Sev, then," she said, throwing her extended hand into the air. Then she straightened. "Hey. Actually, that sounds perfect. Would you be all right, calling me Sev?"

He nodded. He liked it a little better; it sounded a bit more casual than considering Seville, who had been a nightmare in the concept of hobbits whenever any gossips chanced to bring it up. Sev sounded, also, more hobbit-like.

From that point on, he hardly noticed the blackness of her blood, or the pale essence of warm skin. In fact, he sought her out sometimes, when no one else would bother to fantasize. He knew she would; she always did. In fact, she could take it and run with it more readily than he did.

After a short time she joined Rosie Cotton behind the counter at the Green Dragon. Frodo thought she would have a hard time with all of the people there, but she liked Rosie. While he hardly noticed but the ale and Pippin and Merry's singing, once he saw Sev and Rosie laughing together. He felt a pang of something . . . something that had never been before. He wondered what it was, but dismissed it almost immediately as soon as it came up.

Eight years after the day Frodo pulled her out from under the log, he realized he was almost 33, and still knew nothing about where she had come from, much less her age. He didn't really care; she hadn't changed much. He shrugged it off.

Then came Bilbo's 111th birthday, and Frodo's 33rd. Preparations would be many, and Frodo knew, while excitement would end the day, it wouldn't be much to speak of for some time. So he grabbed a book and ran off to the entryway of West Farthing to greet Gandalf. He forewarned Bilbo first, for Bilbo would pay attention to no one until the party was set up, and yet would somehow be shocked at Frodo's disappearance.

Usually Sev was out prowling at this time of the morning, so Frodo read alone. As often happened, a blade of grass found its way into his mouth during one of the climactic moments. He twisted the tip of it around, reading intently. He heard a scuffle behind him, but it was probably Sev spying; therefore he paid little mind. Then he felt her warmth grow near, perhaps on the other side of the tree, and he debated turning around to bring her to his side to read with him.

Then he heard Gandalf humming. Or . . . he thought he did. It faded in and out of earshot, and he slowly set his book down with the forgotten grass. He turned, listening, and he could finally hear it fully. He smiled, dashing off and down the slopes to the main road of the Shire.

Frodo could see Gandalf as he approached in a two-wheeled cart. Frodo halted on the top of a steep, short slope overlooking the road. He folded his arms as the wizard approached, and interrupted him before he could move on without Frodo.

"You're late," he said, accusatory.

Finally the wizard drew his horse to a stop. He looked up solemnly. "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins," he said. Frodo maintained a stern expression. "Nor is he early; he arrives _precisely_ when he means to!"

Frodo struggled to keep his face set seriously, but the moment Gandalf's mouth collapsed into a smile (with a laugh), Frodo began to chuckle. "It's wonderful to see you, Gandalf!" he cried, unable to contain himself. He leaped from his vantage point into Gandalf's arms, laughing as Gandalf embraced him. Then Gandalf set him down on the seat beside him.

He clapped Frodo's shoulder. "You didn't think I'd miss your uncle's birthday."

As they rode, Gandalf continued to inquire after Bilbo. "So how is the old rascal? I hear it's to be a party of special magnificence."

Of course Gandalf would have heard that. Frodo shook his head. "You know Bilbo. He's got the whole place in an uproar."

Gandalf chuckled knowingly at that, shaking his head. "That should please him."

"Half the Shire's been invited," Frodo continued, "and the rest are turning up anyway!" They laughed again.

Then Frodo asked how and where Gandalf had traveled, what he had been doing, what he had seen. Gandalf didn't entirely answer his question, just commented on what a curious, unusual hobbit he was. He explained that everything was going normally outside and inside of the Shire. It disappointed Frodo only a little, but didn't come as a surprise to him.

They spoke of Bilbo a little more. Frodo worried; Bilbo had become slightly more eccentric, and had talked about leaving the Shire.

"He's up to something," Frodo said finally. Gandalf didn't reply, so Frodo glanced up at him. The wizard turned away, although Frodo figured he'd been watching him.

"All right, keep your secrets!" Frodo accused. "I know you have something to do with it." Gandalf feigned ignorance, so Frodo continued. "Before you came along, we Bagginses were very well thought of: never went on adventures or did anything unexpected."

Gandalf adjusted his pipe. "If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved. I just . . . gave your uncle a little nudge out of the door."

Frodo seriously doubted that. "Well, whatever you did, you've been officially labeled a disturber of the peace." He stared at Gandalf, waiting for the wizard to confess, but the oblivious expression that followed convinced Frodo Gandalf would say nothing on the subject.

They passed an outer-reaching home of West Farthing, where Gandalf lit off fireworks. Frodo smiled; he'd been worried the wizard wouldn't comply, and yet his expectations had not been above the mark. Gandalf laughed delightedly.

Frodo stood once they were relatively close to Bag End, and it would be a sufficiently long walk back to where his book lay on the ground.

"Gandalf," he said, and the wizard looked up. "I'm glad you're back."

"So am I, dear boy!" Gandalf called after him as he leaped from the cart. He waved at Gandalf while the wizard carried on. Frodo turned to go find his book again . . . until he heard a barely audible squawk from beneath one of the bushes. He paused, and glanced under it to see Sev. Her eyes were widened, and her nose was buried in his book.

As she read, her emotions jumped up and down; it showed in her actions very clearly. She would gasp, sometimes laugh, sometimes growl angrily. Frodo admittedly enjoyed watching. He knew he didn't do that. Sev was the only hobbit he knew who did.

As he studied her, he remembered she had eventually abandoned shoes altogether, making her more hobbitlike than before. He glanced down at her feet. While they had grown, he hadn't seen hair on them yet. She truly was strange.

He wondered how close he could get before she noticed. He gently crept toward her, then sat down with his legs crossed. She didn't even move. He touched her toe with his finger. It surprised him how warm and gentle she was as a whole. Her foot flicked away, but otherwise she did not react. Her eyes were glued down at the book.

Frodo chuckled as he slipped his fingers over the top of the page. Sev screeched in a rather catlike manner, then ducked into the bush behind her. Leaves shook off of the bush. Frodo laughed uncontrollably, and Sev rolled her eyes as she emerged.

"You poke thy unbidden hands into my novel, Sir Knave, and so I reclaim it!" Sev shoved a hand over his eyes—a common gesture among his friends as a sign of jocoseness—and although the action was typical, it took Frodo aback. She had done it before, but now her hand felt gentle, and feather-soft. Frodo's head tilted back, and his grip against the book slackened. Before he could process how soothing it was to have her hand over his face, she had bounded a pace away.

He chuckled again; he had to think of a reply that matched hers in its bookishness. "It was my world first; this is unjust."

"You want it?" she asked innocently. "Then come and fight for it!" With that Sev ran off. Frodo wondered if she even liked running. She didn't do it often, mostly slinked places. Perhaps she had just adapted with larger feet.

Regardless, Frodo had to expend no energy at all in catching up with her. He couldn't jump over undergrowth as quickly or easily, but that mattered not. Mostly the Shire contained even ground. That gave him a definite advantage.

Once he caught up to her, he had but to loop an arm around her waist to slow her down. A simple hand to her shoulder spun her around. His fingers then had but to lock ever so slightly about the book, and she released it.

Frodo didn't feel done, but she apparently wasn't going to fight back. He sighed, then gently tugged on her elbow until she sat next to him in front of the nearest tree. He wanted to read it with her, although probably less for sake of the book itself than to watch her reactions. They were thoroughly entertaining.

"Sometimes I wonder why you let go so easily," he said despite himself. Then he shrugged it off, hoping she didn't notice or didn't care that he wanted to continue chasing her, or at least have her read the book as well. Then he glanced down at the page number. She had read quickly.

Then he began to read, waiting for her reactions. He waited until she had read the pages opened; she'd laid her head against his shoulder, and he could feel her tense at moments of development, then settle at a romantic line or two. The unnatural warmth of her presence breached his side like a blazing fire. He couldn't but watch. She surprised him sometimes.

He watched her eyes impatiently flicker over the words, waiting for him to finish and continue the story. Then she stiffened. Maybe she knew something was wrong. Or she had found another spot in the book that troubled her, one she hadn't noticed before.

Not so. She turned up to look at him, blue eyes widened fearfully. He just grinned, and she backed away, flusteredly (and exaggeratedly) brushing herself off. He chuckled, but now that Sev knew he'd been watching, he couldn't imagine she would lose herself again. He began reading more, and got lost in and of himself.

Sev coughed, and his gaze flickered out of the book, but not for long. She spoke his name very carefully, but he had to get through the chapter first. And so he did. Then he glanced up at her.

She apologized, but he waved it off. Then Sev hemmed and hawed for a second.

"Bilbo's birthday—and yours—are to be celebrated tonight, at Bag End . . ." Frodo knew this, and knew she knew; he just wondered where she was going with it. ". . . and I wondered if . . ."

He cocked his head, waiting for her to continue.

"You love dancing, do you not?" she said, her voice reverting to an average casual air. He felt inclined to nod excitedly, but decided to wait until she had finished. "Could I accompany you tonight?"

Frodo felt his eyes light up. Sev loved dancing just as much as he did; so she wasn't the best at it, but she showed enthusiasm for little, and those few things she was enthusiastic about stirred something deep within him. When he saw her no longer glaring at everything around her (which she often did) he felt right.

Despite that, only a shrug and a smile emerged. "Sure!" he said. He felt far more ecstatic, but didn't understand why. Bothered by his confusion, he turned back to his book, looking for answers, or at least a distraction from the concept of dancing with Sev. And that she had asked him.

She sounded surprised. "Really? When do you want to meet me, and where?"

Frodo's words crunched in his throat on the way out. "I'll come get you." His voice drifted. He was nervous. She'd always scared him, but this was ridiculous. "Right after afternoon tea." He didn't look up. He couldn't.

"See you then!" she called, racing down the hill. Apparently she still wanted to prowl. He couldn't begin to guess her motives for asking him to dance, then leaving before he'd finished the book. He'd been hoping, since afternoon tea wasn't too far away, that Sev would stay. He pondered going after her.

But the intense part was coming up, and she might only distract through that.

He read through that, not finishing the book itself, before he turned to find Sev. He had no idea where she lived, he realized. After he'd pulled her out of the log, she spent most of her time with Rosie, or prowling around. He hadn't even seen her under the log since eight years before.

So he went to find Rosie. He found her graciously accepting the flowers for garlands, accented with ribbons. Sam really had done some extra this time.

He asked them if either had seen Sev. Rosie shrugged and said she hadn't, and they both turned to Sam, expecting a response. Frodo didn't actually expect one; he was merely afraid of Sev, despite the comfort that had grown between them. Considering that circumstance he couldn't imagine what it was like for poor Sam around Rosie, even though that needed to be remedied.

And dancing would be the perfect time for that.

Sam stepped gently a safe distance from Rosie towards Frodo, then whispered, "I haven't seen her, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo bit his lower lip to cut off a chuckle. He responded, whispering just loudly enough for Rosie to hear, "Is this information such that Rosie shouldn't know?" Rosie grinned hugely and hung her head.

Sam had no response to that for a minute. He looked a little confused and flustered.

"No, Mr. Frodo," he said finally, still calculating why or why not Rosie shouldn't know.

Frodo nodded. "Thank you, Sam. Rosie." He turned away to let them continue, but Sam timidly bowed a little to Rosie and scrambled after Frodo instead.

"Usually Sev isn't where someone could find her, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, catching up. "It could take you all day to find her."

Frodo shrugged. "She told me to meet her for afternoon tea, but I have no idea where."  
Sam frowned. "It could be any number of places. Good luck, Mr. Frodo."

"Thank you for the encouragement, Sam." Frodo clapped Sam on the shoulder before Sam turned back toward Bag End, and Frodo set off again to see if he couldn't find Sev. He wondered if he ought to check the log.

He met Gandalf on the way back to the log, which was near enough to Bag End that Gandalf was going back and forth. Soon Frodo was helping drag fireworks over to the party, and a plethora of other things that he could not particularly recall later. The remainder of the day was mostly a blur until the sun had set, and Sam approached him.

"Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo was hanging lights in the party tree, stepping carefully from branch to branch as he looped them around. "Yes, Sam?"

"I found Sev."


	3. Uncle Bilbo's Birthday

Frodo's eyes widened, and he glanced down. "Where is she, Sam?"

Sam turned and pointed back towards Bag End, where Sev had just crawled and wriggled out from under the log. She very heavily and quietly made her way over to the party, very easily avoiding all contact with the other hobbits.

"She's been waiting for you all day. I told her you forgot, Mr. Frodo, and I don't think she's upset."

Frodo nodded uncertainly. He'd never done something like—all right, he'd done it a few—no, many, many times when he thought about it. Generally hobbits didn't care. Now that he thought about it, he recognized Sev's expression when she was disappointed. She just would watch him a little strangely, as though trying to decide whether to strangle him or herself. So she wouldn't react badly; that would have to be good enough.

He leaped down from the tree to approach her, but just then Rosie asked him if he would help her start up the dancing. Hobbits were crowding the gate, then flowing through and flooding the designated party field, and something needed to be done. Frodo knew Tarrie would dance immediately; he offered to her first.

As expected, that was the needed catalyst. Dozens of hobbits joined the dancing the moment the musicians caught on. Then, after a few minutes, Frodo felt he had a large enough following to be satisfied, and began simply enjoying himself.

Then he noticed that Sam was still sitting down, giving Rosie a wistful glance once in a while. She would beckon to him very subtly, then spin away, waiting for him to follow.

Frodo leaped down from the musician's stand, then sprang towards Sam. Only when he began to take the action of sitting down did he realize Sev had joined Sam, and scrambled out of the way for him to fit.

"Go on, Sam!" Frodo said breathlessly. He was already starting to feel a little exhausted, and the heat from Sev wasn't entirely helping. "Ask Rosie for a dance."

Sam stammered, and began to stand. Frodo felt a little hopeful . . . and then realized this was not very Sam of him. "I think I'll just have another ale."

Frodo's eyes glimmered. "Oh, no you don't," he insisted as Rosie brought another turn around towards them. Frodo grabbed Sam by the shoulders and shoved him at Rosie. "Go on!" He sat back down by Sev as Sam and Rosie carried through the dance; Rosie accommodated beautifully for Sam's two left feet (Sam had used this phrase himself). Chuckles rose from him and from Sev almost right off.

A quick stab of fear caught Frodo, but he knew Sev would accept. He had no reason to be nervous. He held out a hand; she followed it with her gaze. "Come on," Frodo said. "Let's make sure Sam doesn't die of joy just yet."

Strangely, Frodo wasn't even thinking about Sam. Regardless, Sev took his hand. The warmth of it, the gentleness of it, flowed up through his arm in tingles. He felt he would surely enjoy dancing with Sev.

Sev had been practicing, apparently; she spun more easily that night than she often did. Then Frodo remembered: she had asked that he teach her, and he did. Last time she had improvised her way through. Not as nimble a dancer as Tarrie, but Sev had confessed to the fact that she didn't dance naturally.

Then she said nothing about her was natural. That simply made no sense.

Frodo enjoyed himself immensely. But then he realized Bilbo was coming for him. He did not want to end it. That strange flicker of warmth whenever Sev approached through an exchange dance was becoming addictive, and Frodo saw no good reason to let it go.

He told her he needed to rest. She was becoming quickly exhausted, breathing hard. He could have carried on a while longer, but her legs were shaking. He held her up and was going to sit her down somewhere, but she took that as . . . well, something else apparently. She embraced him, and the warmth shivered through his arms and overall core as he held her.

"Thank you, Frodo," she said, turning away. She struggled to remain standing as she vanished behind a tent, but just then Frodo heard his aunt behind him. He raced to find Bilbo, who could barely hear her himself.

Bilbo grabbed Frodo's shoulders. "It's the Sackville-Bagginses!" Bilbo hissed, and they turned, dodging through the crowd until Frodo pulled Bilbo behind a booth, and they waited, heads tucked back, before Lobelia moved on.

"Thank you, my lad," Bilbo said, gasping for air. Frodo stared after Lobelia, then glanced down at Bilbo, whose expression had become solemn. "I am very selfish. Yes, I'm very selfish. I don't know why I took you in after your father and mother died, but it wasn't out of charity."

Frodo blinked. This was truly making no sense at all.

"I think it was because, of all my relations, you were the one Baggins who showed real spirit."

Maybe Bilbo was drunk? "Bilbo, have you been at the Gaffer's home brew?"

Bilbo shook his head. "No. Well, y-yes, but . . . but that's not the point! The point is, Frodo—oh, you'll be all right." Bilbo gulped a mouthful of his ale and walked away right after that.

Frodo simply stood, utterly baffled. And he wondered at Bilbo . . . wondered if he would continue to settle into quiet, non-threatening madness until he passed away peacefully. Or if he would pursue what he was talking about and actually leave.

He turned to sit down and heard a squawk below that made him jump. He glanced at the ground. Sev, eyes wide, stared back up at him.

"Sev!" he said. He sat down, cross-legged, next to her, and she sat up. He wanted to sidle just a little closer; the warmth of her fingers would be enough if he could just get to them, but he decided against it. "What do you think of Bilbo lately?" he asked, trying to throw himself off the idea.

Sev paused, calculating. "Only what I've heard," she said finally.

Frodo stared at the ground, fingering the grass. "He's up to something."

Then Sev opened her mouth to speak, and closed it. She closed her eyes and squeezed them hard shut; then she opened them again. "Bilbo never really wanted to be kept in the Shire. He may or may not leave, but whatever he was telling you, he obviously doesn't _want_ to be here."

"Maybe he will leave," he repeated to himself, "maybe he won't." The concept of Bilbo leaving him frightened Frodo, and that abiding fear was something Frodo had not anticipated or prepared for. He shook it off. "His speech will be starting soon."

He didn't give her a hand up; with the current need to have her, he might never let go. That bothered him, as he didn't understand it. He simply walked after Bilbo, and knew Sev would trail behind.

Then he heard a huge crack, and it sounded like a firework. A few moments later, he heard Sev.

"Frodo, get down!"

Hobbits began leaping over tables and crashing down with them as Frodo turned to look. He could see a great dragon, flying in sparks, skimming over the hobbits' heads. "Bilbo! Bilbo, watch out for the dragon!" Frodo insisted once he had processed.

"Dragon?" Bilbo sputtered. Frodo grabbed his shoulder; there was no way Bilbo was getting down fast enough. "There hasn't been a dragon in these parts for a thousand years—!" His voice escalated in surprise as Sev leaped up behind them and grabbed Frodo's shoulder, yanking him down. Frodo fell on Bilbo to the ground, and all three folded right as the dragon swooped over them.

The dragon sparked off into the distance, and the hobbits watched it, all somewhat terrified. Then it exploded into a shower of color, and everyone cheered. Frodo felt elevated by the sudden lift of shock (or so it appeared to most; he actually feared having Sev so close without being able to do anything of it), and he laughed too.

Soon after began the speech. Well, theoretically; Bilbo didn't seem like he wanted to give it, so Frodo encouraged him by yelling out: "Speech, speech!" and applauding emphatically. Other hobbits joined him, and as Bilbo reluctantly (possibly for show alone) climbed onto a large barrel at the head of the turned chairs, Frodo spotted Sev. He beckoned for her to come and sit by him.

She did so, creeping through the crowd like she did when she seemed self-conscious. She slipped into place beside him, and he laid his arm across her shoulders. He didn't mean to, but it was initial for him to do it. When he did, the warmth felt like a glow across his arm. He wanted to hold her closer, but resisted. It made no sense to.

"My dear Bagginses and Boffins!" Bilbo began. Cheers arose at the mention of every last name as the speech progressed. And while there were not many under the name Proudfoots, there was a stirring reaction. "Today is my 111th birthday!" Bilbo announced, after which arose even more cheers.

"Eleventy-one years is certainly not enough time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits," he continued. More cheering. "Although, I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve!" Frodo and Sev both tensed with bubbling chuckles, and he could feel it. She didn't laugh outright, and neither did he, but it was all there.

Hopefully Bilbo appreciated that.

"I regret to announce," Bilbo continued, sobering, "that this is the end! I'm leaving now." Frodo stiffened, and his arm tightened around Sev's shoulders. Bilbo glanced into his eyes, stirring something deep down that Frodo had known was coming.

"Goodbye."

Then Bilbo abruptly vanished. A collective gasp arose, but Frodo's eyes remained wide and trained where Bilbo had disappeared. The ring, perhaps. Then he turned to Sev, about to ask her if she knew anything, but all he caught was a flash of her glare before hobbits crowded him, all yelling questions. He stood to quiet them, and Sev vanished too, slinking off into the crowd with a dark hiss.

Frodo took plenty of time quieting everyone. While he insisted everything would be all right, people were still buzzing about until exhaustion and ale had crept into the brains of everyone. Frodo began guiding them out of the front gate. Some of the older hobbits staggered against the fence, insisting in a drunken drawl that they speak to Bilbo about this. The women began to whisper, and the children paid little more mind than it was strange and fantastic. No doubt it would be forgotten eventually.

When the last finally walked out the gate and disappeared down the dark paths branching to the rest of the Shire, Frodo breathed heavily and sagged against the fence. Pippin and Merry were washing dishes, and their faces were smudged in black. Frodo grinned, wondering what had happened there. Fireworks, probably. They had a horrible reputation for getting too close to fire in general.

At least someone was helping, though. Then he spotted Sam, without fail packing up food and chairs. Dear Sam. Rosie, too, tried to help, but Sam avoided her rather openly. She did nothing but smile. Frodo wondered how she could stand it.

He stood to help as well when he saw Sev coming down the hill from Bag End. She slipped over the fence and stepped inside as Rosie dismissed Merry and Pippin. They bowed, over and over, more and more in overlaid gratitude.

The tidying had not gone on for long before Frodo saw Sev getting impatient. He didn't know at what, until she grabbed Sam by the upper arm and dragged him over towards Rosie. Poor Sam blanched evidently, and actually struggled as much as a Sam could in a scenario like that. Frodo knew if he tried to drag his friend so close to Rosie Sam would physically resist, but having Sev do it forced the gentleman in Sam to be more careful.

"Sam would like to join you, if it isn't too much trouble," she said stoutly. Rosie smiled and accepted Sam's help. Frodo chuckled to himself as he turned back to work.

Sev got to the tree before he did, and had looped the lights in her hand as she descended from one branch to the next. Soon they were taking lights down from everywhere else, and he followed her. He knew she would not admit to being afraid of her feet; she did not trust them. Frodo could easily reach what she could not. Besides, the air was getting cold. The warmth surrounding her felt like a fire, sans smoke and ashes. He steadily moved closer to her, soon standing near her shoulder.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" she asked.

"Very much," he said. "Although sometimes I worry about Bilbo and his jokes. Something's going wrong."

Sev turned back to speak, but the moment she did, she stepped back . . . and he stepped forward. Her shoulder met his own, and he paused. Warmth sizzled his brain, numbing it for a brief moment. He didn't want to move—and he didn't have to.

"Sev?" he asked, trying to appear unfazed. She had paused, her head lowered in fear. He didn't understand.

She opened her mouth, still staring at the ground. "Nothing," she said. "I'm fine." As if to prove it, she looked up at him. Her eyes somehow caught him off guard. Strange and black as they were, he found himself thinking them . . . pretty, in a way. He watched them as they flickered over his face. Perhaps she was assessing him. He surveyed her face too. Concepts he had never noticed suddenly seemed bright and new; her lips were not dark and terrifying, but somewhat more obvious than most hobbits'. This was no longer Seville he had known from the log.

This was a woman.

And he liked her.

He didn't notice when she broke away, leastwise not immediately. Then he shook himself and continued. Sev walked away, unnecessarily taking care of things that could wait until another time. Suddenly Frodo felt cold.

Soon Sev had nowhere to go, or at least it seemed like it. She wandered listlessly, but Sam had finished everything. Rosie packed up the last of the dishes and tossed out the last of the water before saying goodbye. She addressed each of them before turning to leave, and Frodo replied, followed by Sev. All eyes turned to Sam.

Sam's face turned a deep red. "A good night to you," he said under his breath.

Rosie laughed beautifully, then turned away and back toward home. Sam waited until she had gone, then took his leave as well.


	4. A Sev on the Lawn

Frodo watched Sev. She rubbed her arm, possibly cold. Frodo had never really wondered if her warmth affected her, too. She glanced up at him, then with a wry smile flopped onto her back into the grass. Frodo laughed; she never could stay tense for long. She laughed too.

He was growing to enjoy making her laugh. It made him feel like he'd hit a mark. That and sometimes she was actually somewhat funny.

He settled near her, angled away just so he could feel the warmth of her head. He didn't want to move too fast. Her hair lay like a tangled bush under his own.

"You're 33, Frodo." Sev sounded nonchalant.

He simply nodded; that was a mistake. The warmth rubbed on his head as he moved it. He lay still after that. He needed to be able to think.

"Are you frightened?"

Initially he shook his head. Also a mistake, so he shifted away just a little bit. "Not really," he said. That was a lie. He feared liking Sev; an attraction to her made no sense, and he didn't understand why he liked her. Then again, sometimes he felt like he didn't have to understand. "There's not much to be afraid of in the Shire, Sev, even turning 33." Then a thought struck him, one of those times when Bilbo had been particularly crazy and ranting about the Lonely Mountain. He chuckled. "I guess Bilbo's something to be afraid of."

"And Gandalf," Sev added, her voice gaining the velocity of a laugh at more of a speed than she could control. It spurred him on.

"And poor Sam; let's hope he doesn't kill us all once we've made him blush so much."

They both broke out laughing. It didn't take long for Sev to curl into a ball, holding her sides. Frodo had to keep laughing to hold from thinking; it didn't seem to help her at all. She tried to slow, but her squeaky attempt at it only caused him to laugh more.

"Frodo," she gasped, rolling back over, "I can't be laughing any more . . . !"

Admittedly it was too much fun for Frodo. He kept going. She shoved her hand over his eyes in jocose disdain.

It heated his face immediately, a rather good kind of warmth. It spurred thinking about her, and everything she had been to him for the past eight years: a friend, a comfort, a fellow adventurer. He had to push the thoughts away. She did not care for him, as was evident in her friendly nature.

He halted. So did Sev. She lifted her hand from his face, but he wanted it to stay. She cared about him, even if she didn't as much as he decided he cared for her, and he might need that hand back. He lifted his own to bring it back, but the simple brush of their fingers stopped him. That would be enough to last him for life. He stared at them; her fingers were slender, her hands pale and veined in black.

"Crazeball," she muttered, ruffling his hair. The touch soothed him a little. It was a common gesture, and ignited memories of chasing her around, stealing books back. He laughed at the thought.

Sev chuckled too, but her resistance was strong this time. "I'll be bleeding from the stomach in the morning if I laugh anymore." Frodo sighed, unsure whether or not the night had been for the better or worse, then stood to follow her home. At last he would know where she left to.

They came right back to the log, and Sev slipped under, wishing him a good night. Frodo's head tilted to one side.

"This is where you sleep?" he asked.

Sev shrugged, peeking out from under the log. "How do you not know this?" she asked jocosely.

"You never exactly say where you go after sunset," Frodo said, lifting an eyebrow. "You never ran around with us—,"

"For a good reason," she interjected, pursing her lips. Her eyes glittered with that dangerous, don't-carry-this-conversation shimmer, and he didn't press the matter. He still didn't entirely understand her chagrin against words alone, but absorbed it anyway. He bent down and laid his arms across the ground, as he had done when he first met her, and laid his head down on them.

Her face was an inch away; he could feel it, and not just because of the unnatural warmth. He had to busy himself studying the rather homelike abode under the log to resist pulling her to him. The thought of being attracted to Sev irked him. He'd never cared for the idea, and now knew she wouldn't either. Even though romance books were her favorite, and every story Frodo told had to have some romance in it, or she would not hear of it again.

Finally Frodo pulled back, finding the strength to get away. He glanced up at her. "We have couches that at Bag End that would be far more comfortable than this, if you wanted to come up." He couldn't believe he was offering, although not because it frightened him. He just never felt considerate. A couch wouldn't be an issue, certainly.

Her eyes widened. He winced inside, thinking she wouldn't likely accept . . . but then she pondered for a second.

"That would be wonderful . . . thank you, Frodo."

Frodo's spirits rose, and his heart thumped a little slower, if not more deliberately. He extended a hand; getting her out from under the log ought to be a good excuse for having her hand back.

Apparently it was good enough. She accepted, and Frodo had to still as he internalized the shivers that raced through his own hand. Then he pulled her up and raced toward Bag End.

As he approached, though, he could already feel something was wrong. Sev released him and slowed. As he ran to the door, he began to call out for Bilbo (partially to tell him that Sev would be staying with them, partially to see if the hobbit was actually there). He opened the door . . . and a golden ring lay, staring coldly, on the ground just inside Bag End. He picked it up, carrying it flat in his palm over to Gandalf, who had situated himself by the fireplace. Relative to Sev's hand, the ring burned and pricked with a frozen fire.

He stepped over to Gandalf. "He's gone, isn't he?" he asked. "He talked for so long about leaving; I didn't think he'd actually do it." _Hence saying goodbye._ Gandalf did not respond.

"Gandalf?" Frodo asked.

Gandalf looked shocked, and pulled the pipe out of his mouth long enough to glance down at the ring in Frodo's palm. With an uneasy smile he said, "Bilbo's ring. He's gone to stay with the Elves." Then he held out an envelope. "He's left you Bag End."

Frodo slipped the ring into the envelope, and Gandalf hastily sealed it with wax. Then he handed it back to Frodo. Frodo wondered at the need for an envelope, or why he had just handed it to Gandalf supposedly with the expectation of receiving it right back. He set it on the mantle.

"I must go now," Gandalf said suddenly.

Frodo could hear Sev protesting when he did.

"You've only just arrived!" Frodo insisted.

"I have questions," Gandalf responded as he grabbed his hat and staff. "Questions that need answering."

All three of Gandalf, Frodo, and Sev stopped close to the doorway. It was about then that Frodo realized Sev had not come inside the entire time.

"I don't understand!" Frodo said before Gandalf could step out the door. Gandalf hesitated, then turned around to face Frodo.

"Neither do I." Then he heavily laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Keep it secret," he whispered. "Keep it safe." The wizard immediately turned and closed the door behind him. It left Frodo there, feeling dumbfounded and a little worried. He sat down for a minute, wondering what could possibly be going on. He paused at the mantle, staring at the envelope and the ring.

Then he saw Sev retreating down the walk, back towards her log. He reached for the door, only to watch her slip into the grass before the fence and lay there. He chuckled to himself. There could be no way that was more comfortable at least than a couch.

Frodo began pulling a couch from the front room outside, but wondered if Sev would consent to sleep right by the door. He slipped out, leaving the door open with the assumption that he already knew her answer.

"Sev?"

She glanced up.

"You know, the point of coming up here was to use one of the couches."

She nodded, stirring the grass around her head. Then she sat up. "But Gandalf is gone. I will not come in."

Frodo shrugged. He'd figured she would say that, although he didn't entirely understand. "All right. But at least take one." He grabbed the head of the couch and began dragging it outside. He was almost to the gate when Sev leaped from the grass and grabbed the other side of the couch.

"I said I cannot come in," she said, "but if it's all the same to you, sleeping on the lawn would be nice."

"I suppose that should be all right."

Once they righted the couch, Frodo suddenly wished Bilbo were here. He needed to express something to someone . . . and then he realized Sev might not take it the wrong way if he were to do it to her. He laid both of his hands about her face and gently kissed her forehead before saying good night.

As Frodo stepped inside, he could not look back. His hands, the moment they departed her face, shivered with the sudden chill. His face burned. He sincerely hoped she would take it. When he glanced outside for a glimmer of a moment, she seemed perfectly content, although the back of the couch faced Bag End. Why he had done that, he did not know.

Then his thoughts turned once again to the ring as he shed his vest to the side of the room. He stared at the envelope the entire time as he prepared himself a mug of tea. He could not help it. It had frightened Gandalf off in a hiss of urgency, or so it had appeared. Sev did not like it, and all of the secrecy surrounding it didn't make Frodo feel the better for it either.

A trunk lay to the side of the room. Frodo set the tea aside and grabbed the envelope from the mantle. Then he knelt by the trunk and, once it opened, he buried the ring in the bottom. No need to worry about it for now.

With a Sev on the lawn, the morning would be interesting enough.


	5. One Ring to Rule Them All

Frodo was expecting Sev to be gone before he woke up, but by the time he had breakfast set out, he spotted her rolling about on the couch, almost relishing the softness of it. He laughed to himself, then set what he had out on a metal tray and walked outside.

He knelt before the couch, eating, while he watched her. She curled up into a ball, then stretched, splaying all across the couch. Once she condensed again, her eyes flickered open gently. Her eyes fizzled into reality from unconsciousness, and when they spotted the chocolate they shot wide open.

Breakfast was enjoyable, in a word. Sev seemed happier than usual, and Frodo wondered if she would enjoy being his family-on-the-front-lawn. He wasn't sure.

He certainly liked it, though. They basically did everything together, and he kissed her forehead every night before retiring to Bag End. Prior to going home was the hard part; while he'd always enjoyed his time at the Green Dragon, he felt a need to drag Sev into it. But she enjoyed Rosie thoroughly. So Frodo distracted himself to the best of his ability.

It made him uncomfortable to want her. Not only was it unsettling because of what she had always been, but he never felt this determined about anything.

The night he was best distracted he danced around the table Merry and Pippin had claimed to stand on. Last time they'd fallen on top of him; at least they bore the brunt of the ale during the fall. But he'd caught Sev's eyes. That frightened him out of doing it ever again.

He laughed right along with them, and they chattered drunkenly when they finished. Then he heard Bilbo mentioned by Gaffer, and he turned.

"Cracked, he was!"

Another of the hobbits turned to face Frodo. "Young Mr. Frodo, here; he's crackin'!"

If cracked meant liking books and adventures, that was Frodo. And he had to be cracked to like Sev, he realized. He walked deliberately over to the table. "And I'm proud of it!" he replied, clamping the mugs onto the table. "Cheers, Gaffer."

Then he sat with them as Gaffer continued. He saw Sam's eyes flicker to Rosie, and he looked back at Gaffer. "Don't go sticking your nose into trouble," Gaffer warned, "and no trouble'll come to you!"

That night, as they left, Frodo stayed back as long as he could. Pippin and Merry, as well as Gaffer, were long gone before Frodo got the courage to walk out the door. Sam waited patiently with him; they were both afraid. Rosie stood in the doorway, and Sev just outside. Men liked to flirt with Rosie, so Sev stuck around for her moral support. Frodo winced whenever Sev responded to a flirtation directed at her; she was accidentally gracious and flattering back to them. He only knew this because she seemed to gush at their affections. When he asked her about it, she said she despised flirting and held everything spiteful she wanted to say back.

But he knew she was easily flattered, even if she didn't want to be.

Finally Frodo realized nearly everyone was gone, and coming out last wouldn't be typical of him. He and Sam carefully stepped toward the door, and as usual (much to his gratitude), Sam stood on the opposite side from where Rosie would be. Despite his fear Frodo wished to be courteous; he smiled at Sev and wished Rosie a good night. Both responded mostly to Sam, who said nothing.

Then they turned back when Nonner swept to one knee, swaggering before Rosie. "Good night," he crowed, "sweet maiden of the golden ale!"

Sam's eyes darkened. "Oi, watch who you're sweetalking."

Frodo resisted a grin. "Don't worry, Sam," he said, "Rosie knows a nitwit when she sees one."

Sam stopped. "Does she?"

Frodo laughed, pulling Sam forward with an arm around his shoulders. "You are not a nitwit, Sam, anyone as good as Rosie could see that." He clapped Sam's shoulder, then sent him on his way the moment they reached Bag End.

Frodo slowly ascended the walk. He wanted to wait for Sev, but the moment he reached the door, he had a sinking, dark feeling that something was waiting for him inside. Long story short, when he stepped into Bag End, Gandalf nearly scared the living daylights out of him and asked if the ring was safe. Frodo produced it from the trunk, and Gandalf immediately took it and threw it in the fire.

"What are you doing?" Frodo cried as the envelope cracked and charred, disappearing into the air as the fire consumed all but the ring.

The moment the gold was fully exposed to the coals, Gandalf grabbed a pair of tongs and gently plucked the ring from the fire. "Hold out your hand, Frodo," he said. Frodo stared at him warily, but Gandalf held the ring above his hand. "It's quite cool."

Frodo extended his fingers and the ring dropped. He startled with the sudden chill of it, expecting it to be at least a little warm.

Gandalf stepped away. "Do you see anything?"

Frodo fingered the ring, lifting it to his eyes. The gold sat still, shining like it always had. There were nothing strange about it. "Nothing," he said. "There's nothing—wait." The ring began to shimmer, and glowing words carved into the gold like blazing, white fire around the whole of the ring. He thought he recognized it, somewhat. "It's some kind of Elvish. I can't read it."

Gandalf's voice had dropped with dread and understanding. "Very few can. The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here."

"Mordor?" What was something from Mordor doing in the Shire, much less in Bag End?

"It says, 'One Ring to rule them all,'" Gandalf began, "'One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.'"

He insisted Frodo sit down before he continued, and Frodo immediately began heating tea. "This is the One Ring," Gandalf said. He began to explain, and Frodo realized Bilbo must have gotten it from Gollum's cave, however that came to be. Then he heard an urgent knock; it must be Sev.

"Come in," he called, and Gandalf scolded him as the door creaked mildly open.

Sev's head popped in. Frodo couldn't describe his relief at seeing something strikingly familiar against this Ring and everything it entailed.

"Seville?" Gandalf asked.

Sev just glanced up and began to back out, but Gandalf shook his head. "Come in, girl. Tell me things have been all right."

Frodo looked first at Gandalf, then at Sev, wondering if something was going on that they had not told him. Sev crept inside, cocking her head as she watched Frodo in that strange, owl-like way.

"Sev," Gandalf insisted.

Sev righted and nodded, staring at the wizard. "Things have been all right with us, Gandalf. Leastwise, from what I understand." The moment she looked back at Frodo, she flicked her eyes away, back towards the Ring. "But I fear things have not been all right with you."

Gandalf's head bowed. "You've heard of the One Ring?"

"One Ring to rule them all." Frodo's heart sank, and his eyes drifted closed. There could be no doubt of Gandalf's report now, if Sev knew what was going on. "One Ring to find them. One Ring to rule them all and in the—." Her voice slowed as she eyed the Ring. Her eyes grew wild and intense. "No!" She hissed and backed away from it.

Frodo glanced at her, then at the Ring. Gandalf continued his explanation as Frodo sat down. Sev would not. She began to pace angrily, flicking her eyes from all three figures at the table. She watched Gandalf very closely, eyed the Ring with seething, livid contempt. But she watched Frodo as though she wanted to hide him, or save him from something—and she watched him most of anything. He didn't like the thought of her readied anger against the Ring. Sev did not react so intensely to very much.

"Sauron has only to find this Ring," Gandalf was saying. Frodo glanced back up to hear him announce that the world would fall under darkness.

Of course, with that there was only one thing they could really do without too much trouble, Frodo decided. He grabbed the Ring and began searching. "All right, then; we hide it, we'll put it away! We'll never speak of it again. No one knows it's here, do they?" Then he stopped. Sev looked grave, and Gandalf even worse. "Do they, Gandalf?"

Gandalf inhaled hesitantly. "There was one other who knew about the Ring." Frodo's heart sank. "I searched everywhere for the creature Gollum, but the enemy found him first. I don't know how or for how long they tortured him, but amidst the endless babbles and screams they discerned two words."

Gandalf did not have to continue. If the enemy were to pinpoint the Ring, only two words had to be spoken, and Frodo knew what they were.

"Shire," he said, shocked when Sev's voice joined him. "Baggins!" She sounded livid and apprehensive. Frodo couldn't keep it. He held the Ring out to Gandalf, and to his surprise the wizard backed away. "Take it, Gandalf!"

"I cannot!" Gandalf snapped.

"You must take it!" Frodo repeated.

Sev dashed to his side, and the sudden warmth overflowed him. The Ring trembled in his fingers. She protested as well, saying that Frodo was "just a hobbit." He wondered at that . . . what else she might be, or have expected to bear the Ring.

"Do not tempt me, either of you!" Gandalf thundered. Sev grabbed Frodo's arm protectively, and he felt her lock in place, ready to defend him. "I would bear this Ring with the intention to do good, but through me, it would perform an evil too great to imagine."

Frodo swallowed, and Sev's fingers strained, begging him not to speak. "What must I do?" he asked.

Gandalf had him packing immediately, and told him to leave the Shire, for the Prancing Pony in Bree. Sev accepted only a staff and a cloak from Frodo, and let her eyes sink hopelessly to the floor. Gandalf told him he would need to leave the name Baggins behind him.

Frodo turned after this rush to face Gandalf, Sev standing behind him. He wanted her right there next to him, but did nothing to organize such. Gandalf watched him approvingly, or so it seemed.

"You can learn everything there is to know about hobbits after spending a few months with them," he said, "and after that they still surprise you."

Frodo grinned, feeling somewhat proud of himself if nothing else.

Then a rustle sounded from outside. "Get down," Gandalf hissed urgently. Frodo collapsed to the floor, and a dagger slipped into Sev's hand when he looked back to see. Gandalf crept over to the window, hefting his staff. Then he cracked it down hard outside the window.

"Ow!"

Sam?

Gandalf reached out of the window and slammed Sam down on the nearest desk by his shirt collar, spilling ink jars and scattering papers everywhere.

"Confound it all, Samwise Gamgee!" Gandalf roared. "Have you been eavesdropping?!"

Sam stuttered. "I ain't been dropping no eaves, sir, honest! I was just gardening the grass under the window there!" Frodo stood, and Sev settled as Sam neared the end of his explanation.

"A little late to be trimming the verge, don't you think?" Gandalf mused.

"I heard raised voices," Sam protested.

Gandalf's eyes narrowed while he surveyed Sam. "What have you heard? Speak!"

Sam shivered. "N-nothing much, just something about a Ring and a Dark Lord and something about the end of the world. Just please . . . don't turn me into anything . . . unnatural."

"No," Gandalf said, glancing up at Frodo. Frodo swelled with mild anticipation; at least Sam would be coming too. Gandalf bent over the hobbit. "I've thought of a better use for you," he said.


	6. Black Riders

Gandalf offered the horse to Sev, but she didn't seem to notice. She was glaring at Frodo's pocket, at the Ring. It shivered under her gaze. Something was going on between them, and Frodo couldn't imagine what. Finally Gandalf grunted and beckoned to Frodo. The moment Frodo began to move, Sev snapped out of it.

"Get on the horse, Sev," Gandalf said. "I don't need it for some time."

Sev inclined her head. "I thank you, Gandalf, but I'll need practice with my feet. If anything, Frodo or Sam could use the horse."

"I think he set aside the horse for the lady, Ms. Sev," Sam offered quietly.

Sev nodded, then turned back to Gandalf. "I thank you all the same," she said, beginning to walk away. Frodo moved to put her on the horse, and Sam followed suit. Sev flinched when Frodo's hands reached for her waist, and she scrambled atop the stallion without any difficulty.

They walked out of the Shire, and whenever Frodo looked back at Sev, she seemed a little guilty. He couldn't gather why, and so shrugged it off.

Soon, though, once they walked into the thick of a forest, she slipped off the horse. Gandalf instructed Frodo to now depart to Bree, then asked him if the Ring was safe. Frodo felt his pocket, then nodded at Gandalf. He wondered if it would ever stop vibrating around Sev.

"Never put it on," Gandalf said darkly. Then he mounted his horse and galloped off.

Frodo turned to Sam. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sev convulsing on one knee. He turned and asked her what was wrong, even set a hand on her shoulder, but she did not respond. That dark thought in mind, he turned with Sam. Sev soon followed, although she seemed to have no recognition of what had just happened.

They walked through the Shire, discarding their cloaks as the day carried on. Leastwise, Frodo and Sam did; Sev retained hers, having no pack and saying she wished not to be a burden if she couldn't be an asset. Sam assured her that she was an asset, and she seemed to glimmer at that, but thanked him quietly.

Little occurred until they reached a field that Frodo recognized—he and Sam had been there a couple of times before. As they walked (Sev in front, as she insisted Frodo ought to be in the middle for safety reasons), Sam stopped behind them.

"This is it," he said.

Frodo and Sev both paused and turned to look at him. "This is what?" Frodo asked finally.

"If I take one more step, I'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been," Sam said mournfully.

Frodo smiled. This being one reason Rosie probably had never seriously pursued Sam. He walked back to Sam, gesturing forward. "Come on," he said. Sam complied very hesitantly, and the moment he did, Frodo put a reassuring arm about his shoulders.

"Remember what Bilbo used to say," Frodo said, turning to Sev. She watched him as he spoke. "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step out onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to." He slowed as he gazed back at Sev. He missed Bilbo . . . but Sev was somehow enough.

He wondered at that.

Soon they stopped, at Sam's request, to eat. The food clock was all messed up, but that was partially Frodo giving in to Sev's need to press on. She never forced them to stand and walk, but told them she would be continuing to Bree if they would like to stay behind and eat. Sam didn't want to be left on his own, and Frodo didn't want Sev to be on her own.

Frodo slipped into the fork of a nearby tree to read. He'd brought the book from some time ago with him, back during his birthday. He'd forgotten all about it, and now needed to finish. Sev had read it three times since, but he still felt her aura of warmth when she slinked up behind him to read over his shoulder. He liked that.

Her reactions were enjoyable, but at one point along the way, Frodo reached the proposal of Thearus to Mallia. Usually he skipped this part; it had nothing to do with him. But now he wondered at the shy nature of Thearus, and how Mallia had been so hesitant while, throughout the book, they had been the closest of friends.

How did Sev feel about him, then?

Frodo set the book down and grabbed his pipe. He needed to think, very badly. This called for much contemplation.

"Devilish," Sev said grumpily. She slid down from the tree, and Frodo shivered with the sudden departure of warmth. He stared down at her, pulling the pipe from his mouth. She narrowed her eyes at him, although he assumed she was simply being jocose.

"What, the book or the smoking?"

She pointed at him, accusatory. "You. For not reading. And for smoking."

Frodo shook his head and set the pipe aside. She had told him it was like breathing in a burning house, but only after he asked her. Otherwise she just glared at the curling smoke for a minute or two before turning away and not coming back until "the air had cleared."

"You would like to finish the story?" he asked. She had, after all, read it four times.

Sev gawked at him, and he laughed. Her expression had caught him off guard and made him feel like he was getting away with something. "Of course!" she sputtered. "The blasted villain just swept Mallia out the window! How do you stop there?!"

Frodo stopped then. He swallowed, wondering if he ought to tell her. At least he could partially explain himself.

"You know when you told me you would stop reading because the novel reflected, however askewedly, something in your own life?"

Sev nodded slowly, ponderous and suspicious. Frodo just sighed and settled back. "This one is fairly deep, and takes thought."

Sev's eyes glittered, and he knew he'd said a bit too much. She slid up close to him, her face a few inches away from his own and radiating warmth. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her, just for a brief moment. Then his contemplation came back, and he remembered she would probably shove him off. She crossed her hands across the tree bark. He felt drawn and slapped it away completely.

"Must be exciting!" she said finally, dropping her voice to a whisper. "What is it?"

"You would find it less exciting and more a laughing matter," he decided.

Sev blew a raspberry. "Troneterra, no!" She lifted her right hand. "I swear at all costs not to laugh, sputter, cough, or giggle at Frodo's current novel dilemma. Come now, man, what is it?"

Frodo laughed, but that attitude was exactly why he liked her, and why he knew she could never care for him so much. He shook his head, opening his mouth to make an excuse, offer her the book, something. But just then a chime-like chorus of Elvish song saved him, and he spun to face the sound.

"Sev, Sam!" he whispered. Sev listened, and they spoke simultaneously: "Wood elves."

The three of them sprang from place and bounded over logs as the sky grew dark. Soon Frodo could see a caravan of glowing, white Elves. They were going west, all of them; they sang of the sea, and how it called them home.

"They're going to the harbor beyond the White Towers," he translated, voice growing solemn. "The Grey Havens."

"They're leaving Middle Earth," Sam added.

Sev's voice was broken, as though she were about to cry. "Never to return." Her hand laid on the log in front of Frodo, and her fingers tensed, about to rip the wood apart. Assuming she were strong, although she was no more so than the average female. Frodo laid his hand over hers, rubbing gently. She glanced down at it, but did nothing more.

"I don't know why," Sam said, "it makes me so sad."

Frodo didn't either.

Later, as they settled down to sleep, Frodo could feel himself sinking into unconsciousness. Sleep was definitely welcome . . . until Sam spoke up. Frodo had heard him tossing, but accepted it as the irregularity of the night and was almost drifted away.

"Anywhere I lie, there's a great, dirty root sticking into my back," Sam groaned.

Frodo inhaled, feeling the gentle earth beckoning him to rest. "Just shut your eyes," Frodo said, "and imagine you're back in your own bed . . . with a soft mattress . . . and a lovely feather pillow."

Sam quieted. At least it worked. Frodo's eyes did not open.

Then Sam sighed, exasperated. "It's not working, Mr. Frodo. I'll never get any sleep out here."

Frodo's lips stretched in an initial smile. He hadn't realized they were headed that way until he realized his muscles were functioning, and detracting from rest. "Me neither, Sam."

He heard Sev choke back a chuckle. He spun, surprised she was still awake. He glanced up at her and smiled tiredly, hoping beyond anything that their friendship would become something else. Sev grinned back, although she looked a little sheepish. She rolled over and was still.

Frodo's eyes slipped closed. He did not fall asleep, although Sam was now quiet.

What was Sev thinking?

The next day they were walking through Farmer Maggot's cornfield. Frodo felt initially welcome to introduce conversation with Sev once Sam fell just a bit behind, and soon they were talking and laughing comfortably.

Once the words stilled, though, Frodo could hear Sam behind him. "Frodo!" he called.

Sev and Frodo slipped around the last bend they had taken, and Sam slowed from his run when he saw them.

"It's all right, Sam," Sev said.

Sam breathed hard. "I thought I'd lost you."

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"It's just something Gandalf said."

Suspicious indeed. "What did he say?" Frodo asked, to which Sev backed away. Frodo shot her a glance; the two of them were just being confusing. Anxious, perhaps.

Sam continued forward, by inches. "He said, 'Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee.' And I don't mean to."

Frodo chuckled. "Sam, we're still in the Shire! What could possibly happen?"

The moment his words were out, something slammed into him from the side, knocking him to the ground. He heard a thud as something threw Sev to the earth as well.

"Frodo!" Oh; just Pippin. "Merry, it's Frodo Baggins!" And apparently Merry.

Merry, who had squashed Sev, glanced up with a grin. "Hello, Frodo."

Sev shoved her foot under Merry's stomach and threw him off, scrambling to stand. Sam dragged Pippin off of Frodo, and Sev gave him a hand up. The moment Frodo accepted it, the warmth shot through his arm. He did not want to let go . . . and she didn't seem to either. They both released immediately anyway.

Then Frodo spotted leafy vegetables in the arms of Merry and Pippin. "What is the meaning of this?"

Merry threw a pile of food to Sam.

"You've been into—," Sev started.

"—Farmer Maggot's crop!" Sam finished.

Then Frodo heard dogs barking behind them. All of the other hobbits turned as well, but only for a split second before Sev grabbed Frodo's hand and dashed through the cornfield. Frodo didn't dare slow down for fear Sev would let go.

"I don't know what he's upset about!" Merry protested. "It's only a few carrots!"

Frodo listed everything else in his head as Pippin prattled it off. He nodded to himself. Leave it to them to still do it.

"Yes, Pippin!" Merry called out. "My point is, he's clearly overreacting!"

Just then Pippin halted ahead of them. Frodo stopped abruptly before smacking into him, and Sev nearly raced around him. There was a precipice, and Merry hitting Frodo didn't help. Sam was the catalyst, though, and they all rolled down the hill. Sev slipped away, spinning easily out of harm's reach.

They all landed in a heap, Frodo stretched over the very top. He felt Sev's warmth as her head came out right nearby. She scrambled off, and he slipped away from the other hobbits to stand.

"That was close," Pippin said. "I think I've broken something!" was Merry's comment, although Frodo was fairly sure nothing serious could have happened.

Sam sat up, exasperatedly brushing himself off. "Trust a Brandybuck and a Took," he said.

"That was just a detour; a shortcut!"

"Shortcut to what?" Sam said doubtfully.

"Mushrooms!" Pippin gawked.

Frodo turned away from them. Then a quiet, distant noise reached his ears . . . one he couldn't have described. It disappeared too quickly. He turned, staring down the road. He glanced back at the other three hobbits, who were scrambling at the mushrooms.

"I think we should get off the road," he said.

Sev nodded, eyes narrowed and hackles raised. At least he knew he wasn't hearing things. She strained to her feet, and Frodo reached forward to help until he heard something else behind him.

He turned back to the road, staring down it. The trees zoomed closer, as though escaping something. The leaves just ahead of his feet rustled with an oncoming wind.

"Get off the road!" Frodo insisted. He and Sev ducked under the nearest tree off the road, and the other hobbits tagged along moments later, all crowded around their bag of mushrooms. It was passed and pulled between them until the moment the heavy hooves and breathing of a horse silenced the forest air.

Frodo glanced up through the root, spotting a pair of black, bloodstained hooves. Two armor-shod feet crunched down to the ground, and Frodo turned away. Another crunch sounded when the rider's hands, sheathed in spiked armor, gripped the root below which Frodo sat. He eyed them warily . . . and then felt a tingling creep over him, insisting he put on the Ring.

His eyes slid closed. He could feel the roundness in his hand, pulling at his extended finger. Then a sense of warmth flooded his wrist, trickling up his arm, and he released the Ring, letting it back into his pocket.

Merry threw his bag over the tree root, and it crunched against the ground nearby. The rider shrieked, turning to find it. The hobbits wasted no time in standing and running away as quietly as possible.

"What was that?" Merry asked once they slowed.

Frodo didn't know how to respond. He stared down at the Ring. It trembled in his hand.

Soon night was falling. They ran again when they heard the rider, and Merry told Frodo he was sure it was looking for something . . . or someone. Sev's tensed fingers on Frodo's arm convinced him she was going to attack Merry for prodding too hard, so he simply said they needed to get to Bree. Luckily Merry knew exactly how to get there.

But the rider had found them.

With the others running ahead and leaping quickly over fences and things, Frodo and Sev fell behind. The horse and rider were close behind when Sam began undoing the ropes for a raft in the Brandywine River.

"Frodo! Sev, hurry!" Pippin cried.

Sev grabbed Frodo around the shoulders, and with the initial shock of growing warmth Frodo slowed. She shoved him stronger than he'd ever felt her, and he rolled across the opening gap of water onto the raft. He unrolled under Sam's hand. Sev leaped on as well, and the horse reared at the break of the bridge. It turned to join two comrades behind it.

"How many miles to the Brandywine bridge?" Sev asked. Frodo wasn't even sure there were miles between them and the bridge.

"22," Merry said. Frodo conceded that it was more distance than he'd realized.

Still, though, his breath came hard, and his pulse was racing. He shivered against the chill of night and the rider that pursued him for an action he had to take. Sev sat down, and immediately his entire back warmed. He curled up against her arm behind him, and she laid a warm hand on his shoulder. He laid his head down on it, and the soothing touch calmed him into a deep sleep.


	7. I'll Never Let Them Hurt You

Once in a while, when he awakened, he took over oars . . . assuming Sev wasn't awake to take that responsibility from him. Sam said she wouldn't be happy if she found out he was rowing, and so he said nothing to her in the increments that they were both awake. Sure enough, she took his shift every time.

Soon it began to rain. Frodo huddled close to Sev and hoped she didn't notice. She didn't seem to mind, whatever she actually thought. The other hobbits also didn't seem to realize that Sev was particularly warm. As a matter of fact, they maintained their distance from her . . . as though afraid.

The moment they reached Bree, all hoods were up and they leaped to the shore, dashing for the main wooded entrance to the village.

Frodo knocked, and after some suspicion from the gatekeeper were allowed inside. Within Bree there were far more larger people than any of the hobbits had ever encountered, and often they were shoved out of the way by gruff men, horses and carts. Sev hissed at them periodically. Frodo turned to calm her, but he noticed it kept people out of the way.

Then she grabbed his shoulder, pointing at the sign for the Prancing Pony. They all ducked inside, and Frodo walked immediately up to the main desk.

"Excuse me," he called over the thick of noise within. The inn was warmer, but certainly not more friendly than the rainy outdoors. A kind, elderly face leaned over the counter. He introduced himself as Mr. Butterbur, and said they had plenty of accommodations for hobbits.

Frodo nodded. "Thank you. We're friends of Gandalf the Grey; can you tell him we've arrived?"

Butterbur seemed confused, and that worried Frodo. Then a sign of recognition warmed him up again, until Butterbur stated, "I haven't seen him here for six months."

Frodo's hopes collapsed. He thanked Butterbur, then turned back with the other hobbits. Pippin pulled Sev into a huddle with them, and Frodo's arm initially rounded her shoulders. The rain on his arm immediately began to dry, and he relished the warmth.

"What shall we do now?" Merry asked.

The nearly unanimous vote was for a drink. Sev turned to go find Gandalf herself, but Frodo pulled her back with them. He didn't feel up to a drink either, but he didn't want her to leave too. She did not resist.

As they sat at one of the huge tables with huge mugs, Frodo felt his worry bubbling with the ale. He fingered the mug, hoping Merry wasn't getting himself into trouble when he suddenly disappeared.

He felt better, sitting by Sev. They were close enough that his entire side began to warm. He swallowed.

"He'll be here, Sev," Frodo insisted. "He has to come." She bit her lip, and he glanced up at her. He wanted everything to be all right. They couldn't afford this.

He heard mumblings from the other hobbits, but he did not care.

"He has to come, Sev," he muttered. A patch of his back heated with her hand, and she rubbed a little. He felt somewhat better.

Sam tapped his shoulder and pointed across Sev. "That fellow's been nothing but staring at you since we arrived." Frodo followed his finger to a man, cloaked and smoking a long pipe in the corner.

Frodo caught Mr. Butterbur. "Excuse me," he said. "Who is that man in the corner?"

Butterbur inhaled sharply. "He's one of them Rangers," he said. "I don't know his proper name, but folks around here call him Strider."

As Butterbur departed, Frodo repeated the name to himself.

Sev's hand remained at his shoulder . . . and everything melted away. He felt his eyes slip closed. That's what he needed; he needed the Ring. He felt it shifting through his fingers. Even the feel of Sev's hand slipped off. Something chanted his name through the murk of his mind.

 _Baggins. Baggins . . . Baggins . . ._

"Baggins?!" Frodo's eyes slid open, and he spun around. "Sure, I know a Baggins! He's over there; Frodo Baggins!"

It was Pippin, drunk out of his wits.

Frodo dashed from Sev's side. He grabbed at Pippin, trying to stop him. Pippin protested as he turned, throwing Frodo from his feet. The Ring sprang from his fingers, and as he reached up for it, it slipped on. The world, all but the Ring, descended into a shifty gray. Shapes blackened and became liquid.

Then a voice . . . a blazing fire . . . it seared, not like Sev, but like something vicious. He turned slowly, and terror grabbed him with an iron claw.

An eye, blazing everything in its path, carved through the inn. "I see you," a harsh, powerful voice growled. The sound crackled through the air like fire.

Frodo grappled for the Ring, finally yanking it off. He breathed hard and slipped the Ring back into his pocket. Then he heard Sev, and he perked up from his sitting position.

"Don't hurt him." She sounded afraid.

Frodo scrambled to his feet, but banged his head on the table. As he rubbed it, he saw Strider's hand shoot out of the air and snatch him up by his collar. Sev growled, and he glanced at her. She was fingering her dagger. Frodo only hoped Strider didn't hurt her.

"You're drawing a lot of attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill," Strider snapped. He grabbed Sev as well, and she hissed loudly as he dragged them both up the stairs and threw them into a dimly lit bedroom. He shut the door behind him.

"I can avoid being seen when I wish." He snuffed out a few candles. "But disappearing entirely!" He threw off his hood and faced Frodo. "That is a rare gift." Then he nodded to Frodo's hand. "That is no trinket you carry."

Sev stood up straighter, then fingered her dagger as she stepped to Frodo's side.

"I carry nothing," Frodo insisted. Strider need not know, and Frodo was fairly sure he couldn't trust him at this point.

"Oh, believe me, I know," Strider said.

"Who are you?" Frodo asked, while Sev was silent as well as curious. Or so Frodo gathered.

Strider's eyes narrowed. "Are you frightened?"

Frodo swallowed. Sev grabbed his hand. "Yes."

"Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you."

Then the door behind them slammed open. Strider drew his sword and stepped forward; Sev did the same. Frodo backed away, having no weapon to sustain him. Not that he would need one; Merry, Pippin, and Sam entered. All three within the room relaxed.

"Don't touch them or I'll have you, longshanks!" Sam cried.

Strider exhaled, sheathing his blade. "You have a stout heart, master hobbit," he said, "but that will not save you." He gestured to four beds he had lined up, insisting that the hobbits rest there instead of where they had designated.

Fear numbed Frodo as he laid down. He swallowed. The Ring would not be safe in Bree. Gandalf hadn't met them. Nothing was going as planned. The side of the bed sank as Sev sat down behind him. She laid her hand against his shoulder and rubbed a little bit. For a moment, as had been earlier, he could escape his pain.

He rolled over. The moonlight from the window pierced her eyes, igniting the white beyond her dark blood. They were gentle, though . . . protective, intense. "I'm afraid, Sev."

Sev pulled him up in a tight embrace. He hugged her back; the warmth dizzied him. He'd needed that.

"You'll be okay." Her words held him. He believed her. "I so swear," she whispered, "you will make it home alive and safe. If anything harms you, I will break it." Frodo wanted nothing more than to feel her arms and her words; they wanted to protect him, and would.

He sank. "Thank you," he said. He figured it was time to let go. He did not sleep, however. He drifted away, missing Gandalf, fearing the Ring and its following, wanting Sev. Nothing made sense anymore.

A shriek snapped him out of it for a glimmer of a moment. He heard Strider explaining something about Nazgul . . . Ringwraiths. They'd had Rings of Power all of their own. It haunted him to hear. The Ring burned against his chest; he could succumb to the same fate.

Warmth pressed his shoulder, and he flipped over. "Sev."

She nodded gently.

"They are gone?"

Sev nodded again and gestured for him to follow her. He stepped away from the bed, and she directed him to Strider and the other hobbits, who were standing outside at the front door.

Strider told them he was taking them into the wild. They trudged after him, through forest and over rock. Frodo felt his conviction rising and his determination setting in stone. The others sounded skeptical.

"We have no choice but to trust him," Frodo said, moving forward. Sev stood beside him, stiffening a moment later. He turned to her, but nothing seemed to have gone wrong. She stiffened again when Sam spoke.

"Well, where's he taking us?"

"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee," Strider said. "The House of Elrond."

Sam gasped. "Do you hear that, Sev?" he said, trotting to catch up to her. She grinned at him. "We're going to see the Elves!" Frodo smiled too; he liked her smile now that he knew what was behind it. Initially it was not the best-looking, but that had somehow changed for him. Her gaze fell to his pocket, and suddenly she stepped back.

Frodo paused to watch. Merry and Pippin passed by, but Sam asked what was wrong before he continued. Sev waved him on, saying she had a pebble stuck between her toes. But there were no loose pebbles, from what Frodo could see, and Sev was shaking. He saw sweat prick at her hands, and her feet trembled. Sam carried on.

Frodo carefully stepped up to her.

"Sev?" he asked. She did not respond. He fingered her hair cautiously. It, too, was warm. He wondered what she was really made of. He backed away. His curiosity frightened him; he did not understand her.

Then she glanced up a moment later and blinked at him. Frodo offered his arm, and she took it, stumbling along. She thanked him under her breath every time she faltered.

She split off when they neared the breakfast camp that had been set up. She ate little . . . but flirted with Pippin. Frodo felt a flame of that feeling, that odd feeling that had come up back when Sev first started working with Rosie that he didn't understand. He turned away. It was a sharp pang, with a little bitterness on it. Sadness? No—jealousy. That was it.

Why should he feel that way? It made no sense. He restlessly finished the book over it.

An hour after they began walking again, Pippin said it was feeling like second breakfast, about at home. So they halted Bill and began unpacking. Sev rolled her eyes and continued after Strider.

"Gentlemen!" Strider said. They glanced up. "We do not stop until nightfall."

"But what about breakfast?" Pippin interjected.

Strider blinked. "We've already had it."

Frodo and Sam began packing anyway as Pippin began arguing his point. He lost in the end, as Frodo had assumed he would. They carried on.

Frodo finally felt as though he could best approach Sev in the middle of the afternoon. He told her he had finished the book.

"Without me?" She grinned and bit her lower lip as he responded. He told her he had finished it during breakfast . . . while she was flirting with Pippin. He tried to act very lighthearted about it, but something weighed on him.

Sev frowned. "Devil," she muttered. He nudged her shoulder and caught up to Bill; his face branded red, and he wasn't sure why. Everything was a conflict.

Then they approached a marsh. Frodo offered his help to Sev, grabbing her elbow to steady her, but with her warmth in the cold water he felt more that she was helping him. She assisted him in balancing as well. The other hobbits, Frodo noticed, weren't so lucky. None would take help from Sev, although she called out that she had another arm open.

Frodo noticed, near the end of their travel through the marshes, that Sev looked remarkably dizzied and tired. She sank to the ground once they were on solid footing, then collapsed to her side. He sat down next to her, but she rested only for a minute before she seemed fully charged and ready. She held out her hand and offered to hang up his cloak. He didn't seem to have an option, he realized, but wondered if she wore it . . . then perhaps it would dry.

Then she lifted one of his feet off the ground to rub it. Frodo's eyes rolled back; the warmth shot up his legs and into his back. He nearly collapsed. But then she seemed to feel unsuccessful with it and laughed. He laughed too, although the situation took more of a wistful stance for him. She didn't know what she did for him. She couldn't know.

Soon Strider returned with a deer slung over his shoulder. They ate it for dinner, but no one seemed in the mood for much. Sev hummed mournful songs to herself, but that was about all. She also seemed a little distanced, and Frodo followed. Frodo preferred the warmth her hands offered to that of the fire; the fire had smoke, and popped with sizzling sparks. Sev was simply Sev.

As the night wore on, the hobbits curled, uncomfortably, in their cloaks to rest. Strider and Sev remained awake at least as long as Frodo did. Sev, as soon as Frodo had feigned to drift off, positioned the other hobbits to strategically keep him protected. He sighed at that. She really did want him to be safe, although he wondered if it was all truly necessary. Perhaps it just made her feel better.

He didn't move until he was sure everyone else had finally slept . . . all but Strider. He had intended to stay put, until he heard Strider's deep voice singing in Elvish. The lyrics spoke of a young woman, and the narrator's devotion to her. That deep need to go back, to let her live.

Frodo sat upright. "Who is she?" he asked.

Strider turned to him, shocked.

"This woman you sing of," Frodo clarified.

Strider glanced down. "Luthien, an Elf maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal."

"What happened to her?"

Strider fumbled over his words. "She died."

Frodo paused. He glanced over at Sev. Her back was tense, and he wondered what more she would give up for him. If she would give up her life . . . like Luthien.

Strider followed his gaze. "Get some sleep, Frodo," he said.

Frodo did so, and for once the thoughts of Sev led him away from the Ringwraiths, away from the heavy responsibility breaking on him. He settled, and dreams stretched their liquid, uncertain fingers for him. Just as he slipped away, warmth shielded his shoulder and face. A gentle kiss settled against his cheek, warming every fiber of his being like Sev never had. The Ring's darkness backed away until her lips left.

"I'll never let them hurt you."

He didn't remember anything more.


	8. Weathertop - Save Him, I Love Him

Not until the next morning, at least. He felt every second from those moments the night before had just been his imagination; Sev seemed no different the next day, as though she never had kissed his cheek. He knew, though, that she had left right after. He remembered the shiver that encompassed him when she backed away, the second she stopped speaking. Now everything was so vibrant from then, he could hear her feet against the soft earth as she walked away.

They only traveled for half the day before coming to a hill topped in ruins. Strider pointed to it. "We'll rest there for the night," he said. They tied Bill to the base of the hill, and everyone else climbed up. Strider settled them in a cavity of rock and dispensed swords among the four hobbits.

Sev told him he had her own.

Then Strider left, to scout around, he said. Before he left, though, Frodo heard him mutter to Sev. "Keep them safe," he said, and Sev initially shot her gaze to the side. He watched her eyes as they surveyed him, but she did not seem to mind. She nodded to Strider, and he patted her shoulder before he parted.

Merry, Pippin, and Sam walked away and sat down to talk one among another. But Frodo was too tired and too pressed to talk to them. He simply sat down against his cloak, fingering his sword.

Sev sat down next to him. The warmth flooded him, and he tilted initially towards her.

"Frodo?"

He glanced up. "You want to finish the book?"

"Not now, my friend." She sighed and settled against the stone nearby.

Frodo lifted an eyebrow. "Must be a predicament indeed." She didn't respond, but her eyes flicked up to him, then to the distance. They glazed over just a little bit. He followed her gaze. It was past Pippin, but he might as well bring it up anyway. She had never specified if she flirted with Pippin on purpose. "Who are you watching?" he asked, a little hesitant. "Pippin?"

Her expression snapped into partially humorous/partially legitimate shock. "As if I would!" Frodo chuckled, more out of relief than anything. Somehow that took a small weight off his shoulders. Sev ruffled his hair; his entire head tingled. "You didn't get enough sleep last night, that's what it is. Go to bed, Frodo." She came close, her eyes widened. She was joking, but . . .

Frodo leaned in. Had he moved but another inch, their lips would meet. He swallowed, wondering what she was thinking. She had to be jocose. She wouldn't do this under solemn circumstances.

After the night before, though, that might change.

Sev choked back a laugh, and Frodo knew all hope was lost. "Do not fear them, Frodo," she said as he laid down, defeated. "I will watch you. Sleep peacefully . . . please." She sounded seriously concerned, and so Frodo took it.

"Thank you, Sev."

She moved a foot or two away and laid down as well.

Frodo finally drifted off to sleep. The night before had been rocky, one he hadn't exactly been expecting. The night before that wasn't kind either. He needed it. He felt like he had blinked for three seconds when suddenly the sky was dark, and he heard the crackle of a fire behind him. He sat upright in his cloak. Sam, Pippin, and Merry squatted around a bright spot of flame, and one of them held a frying pan.

"What are you doing?!" he cried.

Merry grinned around a mouthful of sizzling meat. "Tomatoes, sausage and some nice, crispy bacon." Sam piped: "We saved some for you, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo sprang from his place, heart racing. "Put it out, you fools! Put it out!" The fire stung his foot as he stamped it out, but they had little choice.

"That's nice!" Pippin grumbled. Frodo turned back. Sev had sat up, her hair wild and her eyes frantic. She and Frodo both stared down into the growing fog bank beneath the ruins, where the shriek of a Nazgul rang out through the moors.

Frodo drew his sword. "Go, go, go!" Sev shoved him ahead of her, glancing back every few seconds. She seemed hesitant, but he let it alone. If she had any better thoughts, she would probably say them. Hopefully. Sev spoke her mind . . . once in a while. He didn't know when she was thinking and when not. Sometimes it would be convenient to be told.

They came up on a bowl-shaped ruin at the top of the hill, and as they neared the center, Sev backed up against Frodo. Her warmth calmed him, and so he did not move far from her. The other hobbits circled him, Sev being the most anxious and aggressive. Her eyes flicked around the bowl, then back to Frodo.

Nazgul, five of them, appeared from ahead out of the blackness, stepping slowly forward with their swords raised. Pippin and Merry charged first, but were knocked easily aside. Sam rushed as well, and was quickly slashed aside. Frodo swallowed, and his fingers grew slick and numb. The sword slipped from his hand, and he collapsed to the ground, scrambling back as the Ringwraiths approached. Sev remained by his side, defending him and growling as she did. One of the Nazgul stepped forward, lifting its sword.

"Leave him alone!" Sev shouted, hacking at his hand. A small slice formed, and the Ringwraith screeched. Frodo settled until another Ringwraith wrenched the sword from her hand, twisted his fingers through her hair, and held its blade to her neck. She struggled, staring at Frodo, disbelieving, angry, and agonized.

The Nazgul approached, and Frodo felt the urge to put on the Ring. He grabbed it out from his pocket.

"Frodo!" Sev called. "Frodo!"

Her voice grew hazy in his ears, although he strained to hear.

"The Ring, Frodo!"

The Ring slipped over his finger. Suddenly everything became shapes again; all but the Nazgul in front of him. Suddenly he saw ghosts, white shades of men wearing tattered robes and broken crowns. Then he spotted Sev. Her veins pulsed with fire, but otherwise she looked surprisingly normal. Her eyes were inverted in color, black surrounding electric white veins as she watched him, horrified.

The Nazgul reached out his hand for the Ring. It pulled against Frodo's finger, begging to get back to its master. Frodo felt its yearning . . . but could not let it go. He yanked back. The Nazgul recoiled, then stabbed him hard in the shoulder.

Frodo cried out. The shock of a sudden cold pierced his heart, spreading through his body until his fingers and toes burned. Then the crushing pressure of the blade itself followed, and his pulse beat off time against it. When the blade retreated, he threw the Ring back in his pocket, gasping and straining. He writhed against the ongoing blackness, the flashes of reality in and out of his vision.

Warmth overwhelmed the growing pain, soothing him for but a moment as Sev dragged him away from the fight. "Sev . . ."

She said nothing. For a moment, the world was warm, and he could settle. Then everything became icy, immediately chilly and bouncing. His mind numbed, and everything settled into blackness. Haze dominated everything until Sam aroused him. Even so, he could only imagine he saw Sam with a leering troll face behind him.

"Look, Mr. Frodo," Sam said hopefully. "Mr. Bilbo's trolls!"

The world faded again, but this time blackness surged through Frodo in pulses. It shoved outward, and he strained to stay in one piece. A warmth breached his forehead, and only a small part of that blackness receded. Once in a while he could see Sev, expression darkened in agonized half-hope.

Then a growing, bright light approached him from the side. It swept the darkness back, although did not warm him. A woman, beautiful and white, approached.

"My name is Arwen. I have come to help you," she said. The darkness pulled harder, and Frodo strained to keep his eyes open. "Hear my voice," Arwen insisted; "come back to the light!"

The darkness swallowed him, and he convulsed once again. He knew nothing for a few moments until what little warmth he had backed away, and a sting radiated throughout his body. He lurched to fight it. The world jolted again, and he had the vague impression that he was sitting up. Leastwise, attempting to.

A small delay later, his entire back warmed, and the darkness was absorbed by Sev. He could feel it drain to her touch, but hadn't yet felt the consciousness to let it all go. They'd gone too far; the Ringwraiths called.

After some time, he thought he could see one stretching its armored hands out for him. He leaned toward it. Home, yes? Perhaps? What he'd been looking for this entire time, he thought.

It was suddenly yanked away, back into that shifting world of warmth against cold blackness, for a long time again. Then numb shivers spread throughout him as he collided with the frozen earth, and yet part of him stayed warm. The two sides were fighting again.

Sev's voice pierced it.

"Please, give him the light that I don't have. Save him, please, he is all I have! He is the hope of this world. Save him; I love him."

The inner battle became too intense then. The warmth and light flared from before him, and the darkness snapped viciously from behind. He felt nothing more until he heard a deep, Elvish voice commanding him back from the shadow world, and the darkness spilled out through his shoulder. It felt strangely slow and uneven; Sev wasn't doing it. Once in a while he could feel her near, but not often, and not much.

As consciousness approached, he wondered if she had said what he thought. It wasn't likely.

But the light was overwhelming, and the world was soft. He strained against what he had been convulsing from, but it no longer existed. He felt oddly relaxed . . . in a different way. It almost felt slightly uncomfortable, as though something was still missing.

Or still there.

Warmth pulled at his shoulder, and he settled. Then sleep called, and he answered, ready to rest.

He dreamed about a white shore, when the mists rose from before him, the ocean ended, and the horizon was banked in a swift sunrise. Peace that troubled him. It fizzled out, settling something more. He turned; Sev stood beneath his arm, her smile bright. This was certainly Sev (he could tell when she laughed), and yet . . . her blood was not black. And she kissed him.

Then the warmth departed, and Sev was gone. The whiteness dissipated into the realm of the awakened, and once again he felt that softness to his back. That couldn't have been from within his own head if it felt so literal twice. Yet he did not recognize it.

"Where . . . where am I?"

He was not expecting Gandalf to respond.

"In the house of Elrond, Rivendell. It is 10:00 in the morning, on October the 24th, if you want to know."

Frodo's eyes flickered open, and the first thing he saw was a delicately patterned gold and white ceiling. He turned his eyes and saw Gandalf sitting by the bed Frodo laid in. He sat up abruptly. "Gandalf!"

His shoulder pricked, and he rubbed at it. He feared to touch it, not sure how it would react. Then he turned back to the wizard.

"What happened, Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?"

Gandalf paused. "I was delayed." Then he stared off into the distance for a moment, recalling something that Frodo could not see.

"Gandalf?"

Gandalf shook his head. "I am sorry," he said. "You took quite the injury, my dear hobbit. A few more hours, and you would have been beyond our aid." Frodo shivered at that. "But thanks to the skills of Lord Elrond, you are beginning to mend."

Elrond stepped forward and nodded formally. "Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo smiled back, but something in the corner of his eye caught. He turned back, and he could see a shape in the blackness of a nearby niche in the wall. He laid his hand on the side of the bed, and he could feel the warmth from within.

"Sev?"

She sprang from the corner and embraced him. The wound numbed against her, although she did not touch it. The darkness shrank back, and Frodo felt a little more normal then.

"Frodo, you're—well, curses, still a hobbit!" she cried.

Frodo chuckled to himself and held her. "Yes, Sev," he said.

"No small thanks to her, either," Gandalf said. "She's the one that brought you."

Frodo turned to thank her, but her face was already turning gray as it was. Her version of a blush, and it somewhat terrified him. Although, she did turn some lovely shade of purple if pressed. He decided, for her sake, to thank her later. Instead her hand settled on the bed, entwining with his own, and he squeezed it with gratitude. He then saw the book he'd brought, and he handed it to her.

"Devil," she said, ruffling his hair before accepting the book. He didn't release her hand, and she did not pull as she sat down. When Sam raced inside, however, Sev slipped away, and the wound punched at his shoulder. He was overjoyed to see Sam, though. Gandalf told him Sam had hardly left his side, and hinted that Sev shouldn't have been there the entire time that she was. Very much like Sam to fear Gandalf; very much like Sev not to.

"We were scared to death, weren't we, Mr. Gandalf?" Sam said excitedly, glancing up at the wizard for only a moment. They spoke for a while before Gandalf finally insisted that they all leave Frodo to rest. Sev offered Gandalf a pleading expression, but he shook his head sternly. She turned to go, but Frodo didn't want her to go.

He grabbed her wrist, and she turned back to him, prepared for parting words. "You might as well stay in and read, Sev."

Sev's eyebrows twisted in humor, and Frodo's smile initially grew. "As long as you sleep," she threatened.

Frodo leaned back in his bed, sighing in relief. He was liking Sev more and more. It really made no sense. Maybe his wound had twisted something deep down within him. Regardless, he wanted her to stay.

"Just imagine you're in an Elvish bed," she began, "with a superior mattress and three hundred, lovely feather pillows." Sev smirked in that somewhat broken way, when she thought she was being ridiculous and knew no one else would understand. But Frodo remembered; he laughed.

Her expression swelled with pride and gentle care. Frodo grinned as she sat down to read. "Good night, Frodo," she said.

It was hardly night, but that was how Sev functioned as a person. Frodo quickly drifted off.


	9. I Will Take the Ring to Mordor

The world was white again. He saw that shore in the distance again, shielded by fog until the sun melted it back. Then he felt a warm tug on his arm, and he turned. Sev looked at him, eyes pleading.

"Don't leave me, Frodo."

She took him in her arms, laid his head against her heart. Their pulses were asynchronous, or so he could imagine. He was tired; she was terrified.

He awakened to see Sev pouring over the ending of her book. She flipped the pages madly, surveying the last before going back to read. She turned them just as quickly as she finished it, finally setting it aside. She tapped her lips, thinking hard.

Frodo smiled. He liked to watch her.

Did he love her? She loved him.

His eyes slipped closed when he realized she was going to turn. He felt peace as she approached, and despite the racing of his heart, the wound relaxed. Her fingers gently lifted the hair away from his face, and she kissed his cheek. He did his best not to smile against it, to let it be. He couldn't resist, and she hissed to herself as she backed away.

"Sev," he said. It came out more of a mumble.

"Yes, Frodo?"

She had been walking toward the door. Now that it seemed he hadn't truly frightened her, he could ask about that instead of if she had been frightened. "Where are you going?"

Sev's brow furrowed and her smile turned jocose. "Where you cannot until you are dressed." She cackled wickedly as she backed out. Frodo leaped out of bed, clothed entirely in baggy white. The bandage about his shoulder would likely stay . . .

He decided he didn't need it. All would go. As he unwrapped it from his shoulder, his eyes narrowed, and one eyebrow arched. The wound had created a crater of skin, filled with inky liquid. He fingered it carefully, and both his finger and his shoulder stung with cold. He let it alone after that.

It was no struggle to find his old clothes and pack; they were under the side table where he had found the book Sev had borrowed. As he dressed, he spotted a beautiful, gold and mahogany bound volume with a latch on the front. He cocked his head. He hadn't brought it. He wondered if Sev had. He picked it up, unlatched the front, sat down, and began to read. It wasn't likely she would be impatient if he came out later than when he was actually ready.

The first page was a dedication. _Yes, Willation bound it, but hey, it's from both of us. We'll miss you, Sev! Love, Sher_

So it was Sev's. He wondered what was so important that Sev would deny food but bring this. Perhaps she'd gotten it from friends that were important to her. He began swallowing words. It started with a date, and sounded like a journal. Few names were mentioned. The narrator referred to the Guardian and the Author a few times, and mentioned that whomever had written this missed them. The journal talked about the dark-haired one, and the light-haired boy and the light-haired girl.

Frodo found no real plotline to begin with, wondering if this was simply an introduction or an autobiography, perhaps of Sher mentioned in the dedication. He kept reading. Mostly it was internal debate, about whether to live or die, succumb to death or find more darkness to keep the narrator alive. It intrigued him.

It spoke of the character's history at one point or another, how it had been conceived as a fake creature to protect a woman that was dying, the Author, and how the poison that composed its blood made it an inferior, dark creature, an anti-being.

Then he found something that drove plot instead of just exposition. Apparently the narrator was a girl, and she loved the dark-haired one, so she said. At least, she said that once in a while; most times she simply said she found him attractive, and that he was a good friend once time wore on a little. She doted on every small thing he did. Somehow his actions sounded somewhat familiar. He wondered when the characters would be named, all of them. If ever.

Soon it came to a lull, when she was befriending the dark-haired one. He decided then to go find Sev. He tucked the book within his shirt and walked outside onto the nearby balcony. He spotted Sev down below, and she turned to glance at him even as he looked away.

He found Sam, and was excited to see Merry and Pippin. Then he found Bilbo, who looked much older but no less cheerful.

Everyone else parted, but Frodo watched Sev as she tarried. He knew she couldn't resist listening in. He smiled to himself, thinking of her quirks as he studied Bilbo's book: the maps, the illustrations, the paragraphs of story. "This is wonderful," he said.

"I had meant to go back," Bilbo said, sitting very gently down. He had a cane at his side. "Visit Laketown, see the Lonely Mountain again." He frowned slowly. "But age, it seems, has finally caught up with me."

Frodo froze. "The Shire," he said, surveying the map before him. "I spent all my childhood pretending I was off somewhere else." He turned to Bilbo. "Off with you, on one of your adventures." His countenance fell; the wound bit at his shoulder. "My own adventure turned out to be quite different. I'm not like you, Bilbo."

Bilbo tenderly fingered Frodo's jaw. They spoke for some time, and Frodo said not only what he wanted to tell Bilbo but what he thought Sev ought to hear, about how she had helped him. Bilbo seemed to understand, and only sent him off when Frodo itched to get back to his book . . . and when he felt he had said too much for Sev to know.

He went right back to the book for a while. About that point, he wondered if the main character was based off of Sev herself. They seemed similar, and some of the things the protagonist did reflected things he'd seen Sev do. It even mentioned the Shire, and Bag End, and a pair of characters that sounded identical to Pippin and Merry.

This puzzled him. He went walking, and stumbled across Sam as he did. Sam was counting belongings in his bags.

"Packed already?" Frodo asked.

Sam nodded. "No hurt in being prepared."

"I thought you wanted to see the Elves," Frodo said, turning away. He didn't want to leave.

"I do!" Sam insisted.

"More than anything."

"I did! It's just . . . we did what Gandalf wanted." Sam came up behind him. "We brought the Ring this far, to Rivendell."

Frodo paused. Perhaps it was time to go home. He nodded as he turned back to Sam. "You're right," he said. He produced the Ring from his pocket. "The Ring will be safe in Rivendell. I am ready to go home, Sam."

He turned abruptly after that to find Sev. As he'd imagined, he found her back where he had been placed. She was sitting against the wall, eyes glimmering and face narrowed. Her arms were crossed contemplatively.

"Sam's packed," he said. He sat on the bed, expecting her to sit by him, but she didn't move outside of glancing at him. "The wall is that comfortable?"

"Better than standing up."

Frodo shook his head. Stubborn girl. He patted the bed, and she waddled over (there was no other word to describe her jocose emphasis on every step), and sat down. She seemed to try to contain her enthusiasm for only a moment before she flopped over backwards with a groan. Frodo outright laughed.

"To Troneterra with a couch in the woods! Glory to the Rivendell beds and their white, angelic mattresses!"

One of those words . . . Troneterra. It had been in the book anytime the narrator seemed to swear. Something was strange about that book, and he would figure it out. He lifted an eyebrow, however, at her statement. "So I'm the devil sleeping in the angelic bed?"

Sev didn't even hesitate. "Not anymore." She wouldn't even deny she considered him a devil. "It's mine now. You can't have it back." After a pause: "Sam's already packed?"

"We're leaving after Elrond's council in three days."

Sev sat up abruptly. "No. We are revolting." If Frodo hadn't known her to be jocose, he might've been afraid at her sinister tone. "Leastwise I am! You can go back if you want to. I like the Elves and their angelic beds." She curled up behind him, and his face turned bright red as he shifted to face her. He laughed, somewhat nervous, and ruffled her hair . . . her face was so comfortably warm. He paused, and his hand fell to the bed.

She pinched it and lifted it, letting it drop limp on the bed. "Dead. I figured. We'd better amputate that, Frodo."

He chuckled. "Wrong arm, Sev, and this one isn't entirely dead."

"Oh? Well, what if I licked it? Would it live?" They both broke out laughing. The humorous gesture only made her more attractive.

Over the next few days, they sang and ate. Frodo remembered one instance when Pippin had made a comment about Sev needing to cook well to find a spouse. She laughed, but she looked afraid. Frodo tried to reassure her . . . and shrank back wondering why the thought of her marrying haunted him.

The day before the council, Frodo was still debating about what Sev would do for him, and if she loved him. He asked her if she would carry the Ring, and offered it to her. She seemed afraid to accept, but he physically coaxed her hand over to him and placed it in her palm, because he had insisted she could have.

The moment it fell into her palm, her eyes began to glow. Frodo frowned worriedly as she inspected the Ring. It trembled visibly; something was horribly wrong. Suddenly the metal ignited, flaming. Sev's eyes widened, and she clutched it to her. Frodo could hear and see evidence of her hand burning as she curled up into a ball, holding the Ring tightly in both hands. Smoke rose from her hand starting in wisps that grew slowly greater.

"Sev! Sev, let go!" Frodo followed her. She wrenched and twitched, pushing on the floor with her foot to get away from him. He grabbed her hands, yanking them out away from her torso. He struggled with them, but her fingers were ironed to the Ring. He grabbed her shoulders and stood her up. Then he flinched. Her skin, usually warm, was scalding. "Sev! Let go of the Ring!"

Finally she let go, and the Ring clattered to the floor. She backed away from Frodo, landing against the floor. She grabbed her wrist, gasping. Her eyes brimmed with initial tears. Frodo stared at the angry scar, Ring-shaped, in the center of her hand.

"I would have borne the Ring if you needed it," she gasped, solemnly staring into his eyes. He helped her to her feet and rubbed her arms. Now she was cold . . . terribly cold.

Somehow Sev made it to the Council of Elrond. Frodo presented the Ring, all the while with Sev standing behind him. He offered his seat, but she insisted he keep it. It was not for her, she said. She had required Elrond's specific consideration to be there.

Elrond said it would not be safe in Rivendell. Gandalf threatened with the language of Mordor when Boromir of Gondor attempted to take the Ring for himself. Strider was revealed to be Aragorn, heir of Isildur. The Council blurred past Frodo; he felt he was not finished here, and yet he had to be. He had to be. Elrond said it had to be destroyed, and Gimli, son of Gloin, stepped up to do so.

He lifted his axe, and even before it came down Frodo felt a dark burning stir within him. The moment it crashed against the Ring, the Eye of Fire cracked through Frodo's mind. He grabbed his forehead, groaning against it. Sev grabbed on to him.

"I saw the Eye again," he said, shaking. Sev rubbed his head and kissed it, driving the shivers away. Elrond told Gimli that it could not be destroyed here; it had to be destroyed where it was made, in Mordor, in Mount Ordruin, in the Crack of Doom. One of the Council had to take it there.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor," Boromir said. After he explained Mordor, Frodo feared for who would take it. They began to argue. The fighting grew, from between Legolas and Gimli, to adding Boromir and Gondor, then dragging in everyone else. Frodo saw fire within the Ring, destroying them all. Only one of the Council had little enough power to take it without causing "great evil too terrible to imagine."

"I'm going to take it, Sev."

Frodo abruptly stood against the growing argumentation. The fire had to stop. "I will take it!" Frodo cried. No one listened, so he said it again . . . until at last the anger faded away and Gandalf turned to him, disparaging.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor." Frodo could hardly believe himself, but he felt he had to do it.

Sev's response was immediate. "And I will go with you." She slipped a hand over his shoulder, and he felt for it. The warmth chased back the fears of the Ring.

"I would have it no other way, Sev."

Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, and finally the three other hobbits that had been hiding nearby joined them. Elrond expressed jocose displeasure at them, but let it go. Pippin protested, "You need people of intelligence on this mission . . . quest . . . thing!"

"That rules you out, Pip," Merry muttered.

Frodo began to worry a little bit.

"10 companions," Elrond said, surveying them. "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!"

"Great," Pippin said, undeterred by Merry's twist of his comment. "So . . . where are we going?"

Frodo really started to worry. He felt Sev could sense it; she held him. He could hear her words from his dream.

"Don't leave me, Frodo."

He held her back; he didn't want her to leave him either.


	10. Warmth of Sev

Sev disappeared right after the Council, and he hardly saw her. He wondered if she was angry with him, or if she was scared. Every time she saw him or Bilbo or Gandalf, she flinched and ducked away, like something was paining her.

Finally, though, he spotted her on the roof, and she didn't see him. Leastwise, she was staring darkly into the distance and didn't look at him, so he thought it might be safe to go up. He slipped into place beside her, and she flinched.

"Bilbo says he has some things that might help," he started, uncertain if she would accept him at this point.

"Oh?" Sev did not glance up.

"Swords, armor, things like that."

Sev turned. Her eyes were thick and dark. She'd been crying, he thought. Over what, he did not know, and it terrified him. She said there was only hobbit material for one, and that Frodo would need the protection more than she would. He thought she was being jocose . . . but some bitter, mournful note held her voice.

"It will be dangerous for us all," he said. Then he realized she would not be protected sufficiently. He would be preoccupied guarding the Ring, and no one in the group loved her like he did; they would not be enough. "Maybe you should go back to the Shire."

She protested her case. She presented logic, but Frodo could not have it. He imagined her impaled on the end of a Morgul blade, crushed in the hands of a troll, tortured by orcs. It could not be. He would not lose her on this journey.

"I have sworn to protect you."

Frodo admitted he wanted her to go . . . and so he finally conceded. He feared she would not return, and feared he wouldn't either. He wanted to spend his last moments with her, if they were indeed in this course of events his last. And she wanted him to be careful, he could easily see that. She went with him to see Bilbo, and watched curiously as Sting, the glowing Elf blade, was produced, as well as a beautiful shirt of mithril mail.

"As light as feathers, and as hard as dragon scales!" Bilbo said proudly. "Come, let me see you put it on."

Sev turned her back, but as Frodo unbuttoned his shirt he realized there was no reason for her to. The moment Bilbo hungrily stared at the Ring about Frodo's neck, he knew he couldn't put on the mithril now.

"I wonder if I could hold it, one last time," Bilbo said hopefully. Frodo felt traces of the Ring's malice in Bilbo's voice, and closed his shirt. Sev growled from behind him, glaring at Bilbo. Despite that warning, Bilbo's face grew dark and savage, and he lunged for the Ring. Frodo stepped away, and Sev unsheathed her dagger.

Bilbo suddenly snapped back to himself. He gasped and knelt against his bed. "I'm so sorry, Frodo!" he wailed. "You shouldn't have to carry this burden; I am so sorry!"

Frodo felt a sense of remorse for the old hobbit. He may not see Bilbo again, either, and so he stepped forward, laying a reassuring, loving hand on his shoulder. Bilbo felt for it, sobbing against it. Frodo was overtaken by a glowing warmth when Sev joined them. Frodo pulled both of them into his arms. He let but an arm around Bilbo; Sev he held close to his chest, and she did not fight him.

He could do naught but hope they would all be alive by the end of this.

"The Fellowship is setting out from Rivendell on the Quest of Mount Doom," Elrond said gravely. Frodo stood erect, ready and frightened, but with every companion he would need by his side. "None of you are under oath or obligation to go further than you will."

Frodo turned and surveyed the Fellowship. His closest friends, as well as those who would fight for their world. No finer soldiers.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer," Gandalf said. Frodo walked slowly through them all, to the Gates of Rivendell. Gandalf showed him out, and Sev, the last he passed by, bowed ever so slightly as he walked towards the stone door.

Then he hesitated, although only internally. He had no idea where he was going. He had explained this the day before, not that any of the Fellowship had noticed. He glanced outside. There were two directions, both heading opposite paths: one would take him home, the other into the unknown that might kill him.

As long as it didn't kill Sev he could manage this.

"Mordor, Sev," he said under his breath. "Is it left or right?"

"Left," she said after a moment's pause. She laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder; it was more comforting than she could know. Frodo, conviction rising in his heart like the spark of a fire, turned to the left, and the Fellowship followed.

Every step drew him closer to trouble, to the possibility of injury and death. And with every step the Ring grew stronger. He could barely feel it at first, and intermittently at that. Sev watched him carefully, eyeing the Ring periodically.

They took some time leaving the mountains of Rivendell, crossing huge plains dotted with stone ruins. Those first nights Frodo shivered. Then Sev began to feel his forehead, muttering to herself about Weathertop, and he felt calmed for those moments. He waited for her to kiss his cheek, but it never happened. He silently wished for it, but he said nothing. He didn't even know if she knew he knew . . . or something to that effect.

She approached him not only about the Ring but about an apparent factor of his growing more distant. This made no sense to him, at first. He didn't feel more distanced. If anything, he felt more thoughtful, and far closer to Sev than he had. And so he told her everything was fine, but still she seemed suspicious of him. He didn't know what more he could do to assure her.

Sev resented when they stopped to eat for a rather extravagant meal of meat— although courtesy of Sam. While she never disliked eating Sam's food, she did dislike stalling. She felt they were taking too much time. She settled, however, to watch Pippin and Merry begin to learn swordplay.

He'd picked up the book again, but didn't tell Sev he had it, because the narrator had mentioned his name. The name of the dark-haired one was revealed to be Frodo, Frodo Baggins of Bag End. All Frodo had to do was find Sev's name somewhere in there, somewhere outside of the dedication, and his growing thoughts would be set in stone. He was almost entirely certain it was her journal. If so . . . there were things in here he had never known, and was glad to. Not that Sev would want him to know everything he now did, but he couldn't stop there. He had to know.

Therefore he did not read during the rest, but Sev offered him a book that he picked up on. Unlike what he assumed might be her journal from years past, this retained detailed and refined fantasy, with only the crowning events and driving plot involved.

He glanced up to see Pippin and Merry tackling Boromir for whatever reason, and throwing Aragorn over when he tried to break up the fight. Sev laughed. Her hand was suddenly to his shoulder, and he relaxed. She turned back and was gone, so he took to his book once more.

That is, until Aragorn shouted, "Hide!"

Sev scrambled to grab packs and put out fires, but paused for a moment to glance up at Frodo. She threw him under a nearby crevice, and once everyone else had packed away, she turned to look for somewhere to hide. Frodo grabbed her upper arm and pulled her down with him. She hung to her cloak, and he held her protectively.

A huge murder of ravens rounded about them, far too close for typical birds. And there were so many of them. Sev swallowed, backing up to Frodo. She would not look at him, although her eyes flickered towards him occasionally.

The ravens turned and flew back from where they came. Undoubtedly the Fellowship had been seen. Sev rolled out from under the cavity of rock and gave Frodo a hand out. He kept her hand, hoping she wouldn't mind. They were both afraid enough, he knew.

"Spies of Saruman," Gandalf said gravely. "We must take the pass of Caradhras!" He glanced up at the nearby mountains.

The mountainside was steep, and the air got colder and colder as they ascended. Frodo could feel the chill biting at his face, but he had few options. He'd periodically cup his face in his hands and breathe, but even that was becoming cold. His hands absorbed the warmth faster than his nose could.

Finally Sev approached him and insisted he take her cloak. In these temperatures he could not justify it. "Sev, you'll freeze," he warned her. That didn't stop her at all. He had determined he would not take it, but Sev wrapped it around his face. He blinked, uncertain if she intended him to suffocate. She took it off though, and got right up to him. His nose began to warm when she got close.

"Or I'll rub your face warm. It's either that or the cloak," she said.

Frodo sighed. He'd love that. But he didn't say so; they didn't have time to stop for very long, and not as frequently as Frodo would need it. He just needed Sev to hold him long enough for him to warm. The moment that option escaped her, he grabbed on to it.

"Frodo, I didn't mean it, you really don't have to—," she protested.

"Sev, it's the best option, even if you didn't mean it literally," he said quickly. This was something he didn't need to lose. Then he figured the only way to maintain his argument was to step closer.

That did it. She wouldn't back off, even if she did look frightened. She stepped up to him, then laid her arm and cloak across his shoulders. His back immediately warmed, and that began to spread after they were walking for a short time. Soon his nose even felt a little bit warm, like it hadn't in days.

Going up, though, Frodo's foot, just coming out of numbness, caught in the snow, and he flipped from under Sev's arm, rolling through the cold. She raced back for him; she and Aragorn caught him, but not before the Ring had fallen, landing lightly on the path of snow. Sev growled as Boromir approached and lifted it to his eyes.

"Strange that we should suffer so much fear and doubt," he said distantly, "over such a little thing. Such a little thing . . ." He lifted his finger to touch it.

"Boromir!" Aragorn snapped. Sev followed; both surrounding Frodo were ready with their weapons. "Give the Ring to Frodo," she said, a menacing growl behind her voice.

Boromir chuckled, somewhat disoriented. He let the Ring down in front of Frodo, and Frodo pulled it back.

"What is it to me?" Boromir said. "I care not." He laughed again, ruffling Frodo's hair. Sev hissed again, but became civil once more as she turned to Frodo, her hand out. Frodo couldn't believe she would be offering to take his hand, but when he and Aragorn moved for it, Sev shook her head.

"The chain," she said. "I can fix it."

Frodo felt admittedly downtrodden, but now that he had determined he loved her it made more sense. He let it into her hands, and she quickly had the chain back in one piece. She nodded for him to bend down, and she slipped the Ring over his head. He kept his head down as long as was humanly possible; her hands were even warmer this close to his face, and heated his neck as they laid the Ring down. She did not back away for a little while either, but finally gestured for him to join the group.

When she came to him moments later, she wrapped both arms around him. He thought he might stay up better if he did the same, although he only had the strength for one. He forgot how warm he was around her until it happened yet again. He determined never to let it go if he didn't have to.


	11. From the Snow to the Mines

As the drifts became blizzards and the sky grew dark, the hobbits sought refuge with the men. Sev insisted she could guard Frodo, but Aragorn was adamant. So Sev joined Legolas, easily mounting the snow and not remotely cold. Frodo's face immediately froze when she walked away, and he curled up in his cloak. His senses numbed as Aragorn stumbled through the snowbank with him.

"There is a foul voice on the air," Legolas said, peering into the distance. Sev did too. Frodo could hear nothing until Gandalf cried, "It is the voice of Saruman!"

Snow cascaded around them; Legolas and Sev locked against the mountainside, and while backing away, Sev skimmed over Frodo. Her hand brushed the Ring, and she hissed. Frodo reached for her, but the snow crunched down on him.

"He's going to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must turn back!" Aragorn shouted.

Gandalf attempted to retaliate with a spell, but a crack of lightning split the air, and more snow crashed down. Sev shoved Aragorn out of the way, but Frodo fell from his arm. Sev grabbed him with a cry, pulling him down as a boulder smashed into the mountain. Snow buried them both. And yet, holding Sev, he began to warm. He did not scramble out of the snow; to go back to Aragorn would be to freeze, ultimately.

But eventually he had to breathe, assuming there was any oxygen up there to speak of. Sev broke through the snow, dragging him out from the heap. But as she did, her eyes seemed to prick with epiphany. She covered his face with her hand, and it immediately began to heat. His eyes crossed with the sudden conflict of temperature, finally rolling into a settled peace when his face became blessedly warm, and it flowed down his entire body. Grateful, he kissed the hand before him, but doubted she noticed. Probably for the better; a way to express without throwing her off in a desperate time.

Her hand left his face and pulled him close from the shoulders. It warmed like a distant furnace from the back, spreading throughout him and warming even the exposed, purple toes of his peeking out from being buried in the snow. Then she pulled his hood over his head.

"We have to get off the mountain! This will be the death of the hobbits! We can go through Rohan and pass through my city!"

"We must turn back!"

"Let us go through the Mines of Moria!"

Gandalf hesitated. Frodo cocked his head, unsure. He felt Moria would be safe from the orcs, from the Great Eye, from Saruman. Perhaps there were orcs down there . . . but there were dwarves, an army.

"Let the Ringbearer decide," Gandalf said finally.

Frodo shivered, and Sev wrapped her other arm around him protectively. "We shall go through the mines," Frodo said finally.

Sev stiffened. Gandalf's expression settled in mild despair. "So be it," he said, and soon led them back through the drifts from whence they came. As they walked he turned to Sev. She did not look like she wished to speak, so he backed away.

When they reached the ends of the snow, Sev moved to leave him. But he wanted her to stay, and hoped she wouldn't mind. He kept his arm around her, and she did not resist.

"Thank you," he said. He hoped it came across like he wished it to; Caradhras had been a lot easier with her, and he wanted her to know that.

She just nodded in response. "I'm here to protect you, Frodo," she said, leaning into him. "I may not do a perfect job of it, but I am trying."

 _I'm here to protect you._ She had never said anything else, really. If that journal truly was Sev's, then she cared about Frodo more than he had ever known, and he felt those words were an outlet for something more. And he loved it, every bit of it. She certainly wasn't perfect, he knew that. But he still liked her.

Frodo could have kissed her. But now was not the time—so he simply squeezed her waist just a little. She smiled, turning a pale gray. At least it made her dark lips a little less stark. He pulled his arm up her back to surround her shoulders; it made things easier for him, and hopefully for her. It kept her closer to his heart, where an empty space had been carved by the Ring. Then he realized it had been eating away at him since the departure of Bilbo.

But just then Gandalf called to him from the front. Gandalf didn't even look back, and Frodo wondered if Gandalf's choice of action might have been different if he had seen.

"Frodo! Come and help an old man," he said.

Frodo didn't feel that Gandalf seriously needed help, but knew he could never truly know everything. He pulled Sev up with him, and Gandalf held out his arm. Frodo reluctantly parted from Sev to slide under Gandalf's arm. The wizard only looked partially apologetic, but Frodo doubted it would make much of a difference to him now that he had spoken. Frodo shivered with the sudden lack of warmth.

"How is your shoulder?" Gandalf asked quietly. Sev slipped underneath his other arm, and Gandalf complied dismissively. Frodo gathered he couldn't feel the warmth, like the other hobbits.

Frodo pondered it for a moment. It always seemed to back off around Sev, but Frodo considered that to be a purely psychological influence. "Better than it was," he said.

"And the Ring?" Gandalf asked, turning Frodo to face him. Sev slipped away, watching carefully.

Frodo paused. Since Sev had been so close to him, he hadn't felt it, but now it seared through his pocket like a small but dangerous brand on his heart, growing heavier and heavier.

"You feel its power growing, don't you?" Gandalf asked, his voice growing grave. Sev's brow furrowed, and a growl built in her throat. She eyed each member of the Fellowship darkly as they passed, but none looked back at her. Frodo wondered if he had ever considered her so inconsequential; then again, that's how everyone saw her.

According to her journal she was passively important at best. But she still had mentioned nothing about her birthplace; factors were impossible to tell.

Then Gandalf told him he could trust no one . . . Boromir passed, and all three eyed him. Sev's gaze slipped urgently back to the Ring. He felt it tremble again; why it had burned her he did not know, but the Ring wanted it again.

"Then who do I trust?" he asked, mind flickering between the two issues at hand. He assumed he should simply trust Sev and Gandalf, but then Gandalf told him to trust himself . . . and hinted that he might not be around long enough to take care of the Ring.

Or so Frodo felt.

Gimli gasped as he passed them. "Look; the Walls of Moria!"

They continued forward at last, walking along the walls for hours before they came to a reservoir of water in front of a sheer cliff of walls. It was explained that dwarf doors may lose their secrets and never be found.

Frodo, as he walked, misstepped, and the muddy earth slipped out from beneath his foot to slide into the water for a second before he snapped it back out. Sev grabbed his elbow.

"You all right?" she asked.

Frodo hadn't seen her in a little bit; while walking against the walls she had fallen back. He nodded, but she glanced at the water. "I'm fine, Sev," he insisted, but as they continued she grew more and more cautious. She stayed closer as a result, and Frodo felt that feigned danger was more comfortable than having her relaxed.

Finally Gandalf stopped, muttering as he surveyed the stone. A cloud spread away from the full moon above, revealing a shining arch carved into the wall, with vines spreading about it. Gandalf lifted his staff to read an inscription at the top. Frodo read it faster to himself.

"The Door of the House of Balin, Lord of Moria. Speak 'friend' and enter."

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked loudly.

Gandalf turned to him, probably pleased to know more than anyone else, as he often was. "If you are a friend you speak the password, and the doors will open!" He tried twice, to no avail.

"Nothing's happening," Pippin whispered. Then he spoke up after Gandalf's second failed attempt. "What are you going to do, then?"

"Hit your head against these doors, Peregrine Took," Gandalf snapped, "and if that does not open them, at least it will give me some rest from foolish questions!"

No one dared to say anything more. Pippin and Merry took to throwing rocks across the water. Aragorn very gently goaded Sam into letting go of Bill, and the rest of them waited.

Frodo sat down, and Sev beside him. She bit her lip.

"Frodo, are you sure the mines were the best road?" she asked finally.

"No," he said. Then he considered. "We certainly couldn't have kept going, and I don't think taking our old road was wise, either." The debate tingled in his head; he didn't know yet. "Perhaps Moria is the best way."

"I heard Gandalf had some concerns," Sev elaborated.

Frodo paused. "What did he say?"

"I remember him telling Gimli that—," Then she stopped. "Never mind that. The decision is made, and I understand your point." When he eyed her questioningly, she shrugged. "Just why you chose Moria knowing what you did."

Gandalf finally gave up and threw his staff aside. Frodo turned to the door, reading the inscription again, and stood abruptly. "It's a riddle!" he cried. "'Speak friend . . . and enter.' What's the Elvish word for friend?"

"Melloch," Gandalf said, and the stone doors swung open slowly. They stepped inside. Sev glanced around, then squeezed Frodo's shoulders.

"I knew how to open it." She drawled jocosely, and Frodo laughed. Then she paused, and the air around her warmed up. "Seriously, though, that was awesome. You should be feeling great about yourself."

He couldn't respond to that. His face branded.

Gimli began rambling off about Moria as Gandalf lit his staff, and the room illuminated. But as light entered the mines, Boromir halted. "This isn't a mine," he said darkly. "It's a tomb."

Frodo jolted, not only when he saw impaled corpses below him, but when Sev grabbed ahold of him fiercely. He pulled her close to him, partially out of fear and partially simply because he wanted to. Gimli cried out, mourning, and Legolas grabbed an arrow. "Goblins," he said.

They quickly drew their weapons. Sev hissed, and her hand covered Frodo's heart protectively. He appreciated that too, but at this point didn't have the mental presence to acknowledge it.

"Get out of the mines!" Boromir shouted. "We'll take the path through Rohan!"

The hobbits backed up to the door. They were almost out when Frodo felt a slimy limb wrap around his leg. Sev's warmth vanished from beside him as he was yanked back by something significantly more powerful than himself.

"Sev!" he cried as the limb thrashed him through the air. His sense of consciousness jostled dangerously as the creature below him screeched, whipping him around. He got too close to the mouth for comfort a few times. The world was a blur of water, limbs, and dark sky.

He heard the hiss of a sword, and the creature squealed in protest when Sev began hacking at it and yelling for Aragorn. He could hear the hobbits shouting at the creature, and heard the hiss of an arrow, and its _thock_ as it hit its target, wherever that happened to be. The beast shrieked, but finally Frodo felt the limb around his ankle give way, as well as the one that had wound about his wrist. He crashed against the shore.

Sev had collapsed next to him. She struggled to her feet and grabbed his hands to bring him to his own. They immediately began to dry. The limb shivered and slipped away.

"You all right?" she asked. She was breathing hard, and her sword lay abandoned on the ground nearby. Frodo could nothing but nod. Words would not form.

She grabbed her sword as Aragorn shouted for them to return to the mines. Sev hauled Frodo over, and when she stumbled near the entrance, he pulled her upright and they raced through the Gates of Moria. The creature pulled itself onto the shore, grabbing into the mines. But the entryway collapsed in its wake; darkness caved in.

Sev gripped his upper arm. He tensed initially until she let loose, but was glad her hand didn't leave him.

Gandalf lit his staff again. "So begins our long journey through the dark mines of Moria. There are worse things than orcs in the places of the great deep."

They walked single file along steep edges. Frodo glanced down, and so did Sev. She shied away from the edge, and watched it fearfully. She stared at him whenever she heard a pebble clatter away, or someone's foot slip. Frodo didn't mind the cliff edge, but her paranoia was confusing him. He settled beside her on the path, and she relaxed.

Gandalf lifted his wand to show the mine's grandeur, explaining that the dwarves were not mining for gold or coal, but mithril. He talked about Bilbo's mail shirt, and Gimli's eyes popped. "A kingly gift!" he said.

Frodo stared at the ground. He wondered if they knew he had it, or if he ought to have it. Bilbo had given it to him so readily.

"Do you have it?" Sev asked. She had a concerned note in her voice. He only nodded in response.

"On?"

He nodded again.

"Would you show me sometime? What you look like with it, I mean."

She never had gotten to see. He told her he would. Their conversation cut off when Gandalf began mounting a huge, stone staircase, each stair almost Frodo's height. Sev lifted him onto the first stair before he could say anything, and she followed him right up.

When they reached the top, Gandalf glanced around blankly. "I have no memory of this place," he said.

They had come to a crossroads of three directions to move forward through, and no one else had ventured the mines.


	12. Death in Moria

Sev asked Frodo if he wanted to read. He thought she would recognize her journal, and declined. He still had to think about it when he could. But then he thought of experimenting with something. He asked her if she would tell him a story . . . and every word out of her mouth reflected the journal. That locked it in. He hadn't seen her name yet, but she had definitely written it.

And had said many times how she cared for Frodo.

Had said three times, throughout years of writing her thoughts, that she loved him.

Frodo's brow furrowed when the story altered. It changed from Sev's perspective to another's, Rosie's he assumed. Because another character, Sam-like, was introduced as well, as a romantic pair. He wanted to hear more about Frodo and Sev . . . but she had come to the present of their time.

He stopped when he saw a shadowy figure crawling about below.

"Sev! There's something down there!"

"Gollum," Gandalf said from behind them. He called him "Smeagol" once, and talked about his intentions of the Ring.

Frodo frowned. "It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance."

Sev glanced at him strangely, and Gandalf said, "Pity? It was pity that stayed his hand. Perhaps Gollum does deserve to die; some things that deserve to die live, and some things that deserve to live do die. Don't be so quick to deal judgement of that nature."

The Ring pulsed against Frodo's chest, and he swallowed. It was getting to him; he could feel it driving his anger towards Gollum. He sat down, feeling defeated. "I wish the Ring had never come to me," he said. "I wish none of this had happened."

He had anticipated (but not entirely expected) Sev's expression to narrow with concern, and after a questioning glance to Gandalf, she settled next to him. The warmth flooded through him as she wrapped her arm around his shoulder. He laid a hand over hers.

"So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide," Gandalf said gently.

"The only decision left to you left to you is what to do with the opportunities you've been given," Sev finished for him. Frodo only felt somewhat better. Then Sev lifted her lips close to his ear and added, "And you've made the right decision . . . saving the world like a knight on a quest." She ruffled his hair.

He truly did love her, even if she had loved him first.

Gandalf spoke of how Frodo was meant to find the Ring. Sev seemed to back away a little at that, and when Frodo surveyed her face, he saw hopeful, yet somehow irritated, concern written across her eyes.

An epiphanic exclamation from Gandalf stopped him before he could ask her what was wrong. Gandalf went for one of the tunnels, saying he had found the right way.

"Ah, he's remembered!" Merry said brightly.

Gandalf put on his hat. "No, the air isn't so foul down here." Sev backed away from Frodo, gesturing for him to carry on. He did so, and lost her to the throes of the Fellowship.

Gimli sprang into an askew door, and the Fellowship followed him inside. Frodo glanced at the moonlit tomb in the center that Gimli knelt and wept before. Gandalf lifted a book from the floor, held in the hands of a dwarf skeleton. Sev stepped in and stood next to the door; Frodo did not approach. Something had irked her, and he could not ask now.

"We cannot get out," Gandalf read. "They have taken the bridge. We cannot get out. Drums . . . the sound of drums, everywhere. We cannot get out." He glanced up gravely. "They are coming."

A creak and a smack followed Gandalf's words, and everyone turned to glance at Pippin. Something had apparently just fallen down the well near him, and a chain slithered down after it, as well as a metal bucket that banged against the abyss. Pippin winced harder and harder after each echo.

Gandalf slammed the book shut, and Frodo backed away. "Fool of a Took! Next time throw yourself down and rid us of your foolishness!" he snapped, taking his hat and staff. Everyone froze when drums, louder than the echoing of the metal, banged through the air. All looked at the doors. Sev backed towards Frodo.

Arrows zipped through, and Boromir along with Legolas barred the door shut. The hobbits grouped together, Sev at the very back. She pulled out her sword, then stepped to the front. Gimli encouraged the coming enemies to burst through as the doors trembled.

Legolas shot the first few orcs before they could enter, but then an entire flood burst through. A cave troll followed. The hobbits raced into the fray; Sam quickly abandoned his sword for a frying pan, and Pippin and Merry did the same in favor of throwing rocks.

The cave troll rushed all the hobbits but Sam, ramming them into a corner. They leaped onto a ledge, but the cave troll smashed it, trapping Sev and Frodo on one side, Pippin and Merry on the other. Sev tried to avert the creature, but somehow it kept going after Frodo. He fought it desperately, but it grabbed him by the legs and dragged him off.

"Frodo!" Sev's voice strained, and she leaped off the ledge to him. The other hobbits attacked the troll, but it fought them off. Then it grabbed a spear and lodged it into his side.

The impact crushed him, ringing against the mithril, and he groaned as he collapsed. His entire side throbbed, his nerves screaming madly. His senses drooped as oxygen was cut off by the ground looming in front of him. He had the vague impression of Sev's hands flitting over him, then vanishing for a moment only to return.

Something grabbed him urgently by the shoulders, pulling him up off the ground. He gasped and staggered; the breath returned to him, and the spear was gone. He glanced up; Sev was fingering the tip, seemingly shocked at the lack of blood.

"That spear would have skewered a wild boar," Aragorn said, amazed. Sev's eyes glittered with epiphany.

Gandalf stepped forward. "I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye." Feeling that to be a hint, Frodo pulled the fabric of his shirt away from the mithril beneath. Sev leaned forward and gently touched it, awed.

"Mithril!" Gimli said, awed.

Then Frodo heard the hissing of orcs. "We must be gone," Gandalf said urgently, turning. Sev held out her hand, and Frodo took it, rising to his feet with her. She bit her lip, then embraced him hard. Frodo's side pained, but her gentle arm about it seemed to help.

"Frodo, you're alive!"

She sounded pleased and relieved, and that dizzied him.

"Yes, Sev," was all he could say.

She stayed for but a minute before telling him they had to run. The others had continued; she pushed him fast to catch up with them.

Before they even reached Gandalf, goblins began to scramble down the columns and walls like spiders. Sev pulled Frodo with her, finally reaching the already quickly moving group ahead of them. But the goblins surrounded them easily, hissing menacingly. Sev stood in front of Frodo, grabbing his hand as she held her sword up before him.

Then a distant rumbling sounded, and the goblins shrieked, retreating frantically back up the walls and columns from whence they came. A forest of fire exploded from the nearest doorway, and Gandalf cried out for everyone to run. A demon emerged from the entryway, black, vicious, and shielded with flame. He walked after them, unable to fly or run in such unstable mines.

Frodo heard Gandalf ushering Aragorn on, but when Frodo turned, Gandalf continued following them. They raced through another entryway into a huge, dark cavern. A large staircase led from one side to the other of the cavern, and they started down it.

They came to an abrupt halt ahead of a breach. Legolas leaped easily across, but the moment he got Gandalf over, arrows began hissing down at them. Legolas shot back, and so did Boromir once he had made it. Gimli was sent over, as well as the other hobbits. Sev resisted going over first, and reached for Frodo. But Aragorn insisted she go across first. In response she tossed him herself, and he made it the whole way over.

Sev turned to throw Frodo, but then an arrow forced them back, and the stairs crumbled. Sev grabbed him and scrambled back as boulders fell from the ceiling. The staircase behind them cracked as well, and the entire sector teetered. Sev grabbed him as they fell forward. She threw him at the last second, and before the stairs crumbled entirely, each was caught by Aragorn and Legolas.

They continued down the stairs, running without regard for what had passed. They reached the bridge, and Sev threw Frodo to the front of the group. He didn't glance behind him until he had gone across the bridge, and he did his best not to look down either. The blackness gaped open like the Ring's power, like Sauron's mouth, ready to swallow him whole. He didn't want to think kabout what could be down there.

Once he had made it to the other side, he could see light up through the stairs. He turned back to see if they had all followed. Gandalf stood on the bridge, Sev with him. She looked determined, but Gandalf pressed her forward. Her gaze flicked to Frodo, and she raced all the way to him. They both turned to leave.

But then Frodo heard the demon. And Gandalf.

He gazed back. Gandalf had not moved, simply standing where he did, with his staff held high. "You cannot pass!" he shouted at the demon.

"Gandalf!" Sev cried. She turned back.

"I am the wielder of the Flame of Anon," Gandalf began muttering. A silver light flared and covered him. The demon unsheathed a sword as Gandalf continued to chant, and the wizard challenged it loudly. The sword came crashing down on his white shield. He shouted and groaned until the flame burst against his shield. The demon fell back, stunned, then retaliated, fashioning a whip from his hand.

"You shall not pass!" Gandalf shouted, and his staff crashed down on the bridge. The demon defied him, stepping forward, but the stone crumbled just near Gandalf's feet. His enemy roared, tumbling with the broken stone into the blackness.

Gandalf turned back to finish out Moria. Frodo could not but watch in horror as the whip snapped up behind Gandalf desperately, locking around his ankle and dragging him down. His staff left him, as did his sword.

Frodo and Sev both leaped for him at the same time, but no one stopped Sev. Boromir's arm wound around Frodo's waist, and the hobbit could do nothing to resist him. Frodo writhed and struggled; he had to get to Gandalf before something worse happened. Sev stopped, turning back and pulling on Boromir's arm to make him let go. Finally she resorted to pulling Frodo himself, which Frodo did not mind; it helped more.

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried, hope trickling away from his grasp like the dust of Moria. Gandalf began working his way back up, grabbing the crumbling stones. Then his eyes locked on Frodo's. Beneath Sev's fingers Frodo could feel his heart pounding against his skin, trying to break free for Gandalf.

"Fly, you fools," Gandalf hissed. He threw himself from the bridge and was seen no more.

Frodo's heart wrenched, twanged, and snapped, falling to pieces within him. "No!" He shoved against Boromir, wishing that he had to do something. Boromir lifted him onto his shoulders. Frodo's cry rang through his own ears. Gandalf was gone.

Gandalf was gone.


	13. Light Burns Darkness

Once they reached the surface, sunlight pierced him for the first time in days. Yet he felt nothing good from it. Most of the Fellowship collapsed. The hobbits were in tears.

Frodo could not abide it. His soul ached, and he walked away, possibly to mend it. He doubted it would mend, though. He could not find Sev. So he needed to be alone.

A few moments later he heard her. "Frodo?"

He turned to her. The tears tickled down his cheeks as he turned. He swallowed as she approached. Sev's eyes brimmed with tears as well. She said nothing, just held him. He laid his arms across her. He needed nothing more. She stepped with him further away, then settled. He buried his face in her hair, and tears beaded across it.

Her warm hand settled in his thick curls, rubbing the pain out. Frodo's eyes flickered closed, open again, across her shoulders. He didn't want to, couldn't, think right then. Time did not have to move. This numbness would halt the hurt he knew was coming. Her head gently settled against his heart, and he held her more tightly.

The men began arguing, and Sev took Frodo even farther from the Fellowship. Aragorn warned them all that orcs would be swarming the countryside, and ordered Legolas to get the hobbits moving.

The Quest needed to be finished.

Frodo had Sev in his arms. Moving hurt; thinking hurt. Everything hurt. Continuing with Gandalf gone would only hurt even more.

And his fate was something he could not fight.

He heard Aragorn, and his heart sank just a little.

"Frod—!" Sev's growl cut him off, and she left Frodo to talk to Aragorn. Frodo shivered. He'd certainly be more willing to face the future if Sev would do it with him. She and Aragorn muttered with each other for a moment before Sev nodded gravely, and sympathetically turned back to Frodo. He knew they had to go.

She extended a hand, and he took it. She did not hold him for long, looking hesitant. She studied him very carefully. They had gone some distance, almost to Lorien, before she spoke again.

"There was nothing you could have done."

He paused. That was spontaneous. He blinked at her.

"If anything it was my fault," she continued. Her fingers twitched as she surveyed him. "I was going to save him, but . . ."

Frodo laid his arm about her shoulders and squeezed them. "You helped me first. Gandalf would have fallen regardless." And that was part of what troubled him.

"So that's n0t—," Sev paused.

"So that's not what?"

Sev shook her head dismissively. "I thought you were blaming yourself. I'm glad you weren't." Then she turned to him, her expression deep. "Gandalf did not die without reason, Frodo. He loves you every bit as much as most of us"—her eyes flickered uncertainly at this—"and did it to keep you safe. I miss him too, but I couldn't feel better about his cause for leaving us."

Frodo felt the weight sink away from him. He let his head lay against her shoulder until they were required to run. They made it to Lorien within minutes of then, and the moment they entered, Gimli approached Frodo and Sev.

"Keep a wary eye, hobbits!" he whispered . . . as much as a dwarf can. "They say an elf enchantress lives in these woods. Any who see her fall under her spell, and none ever return."

Frodo stopped abruptly when a voice entered his head.

 _You bring great evil, Frodo Baggins._

His name echoed through the voice.

He snapped out of it when Sev growled behind him. He turned and asked her if she was all right, but she threw it off. Then she slipped up beside him and entwined her fingers with his own. He glanced at their hands; why did that intrigue and settle him?

"Don't trouble yourself with anything more. Particularly not with Gandalf; we'll see him again."

"What do you mean?"

"When we follow him. Won't it be wonderful, then? Cares will be past, and the blackness of this world will fade away." Sev's fingers tapped against his hand, and the warmth spread in gradients. Frodo relaxed easily. "Peace forever alone with those we hold dear."

He hoped that meant the two of them, but Sev did not elaborate. "It sounds wonderful, Sev," he said, and he meant it.

"But I won't fall under her spell!" Gimli insisted. "I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!" Then he gasped when an arrowtip nearly punctured his nose. Frodo and Sev halted as Elves, all armed with bows and arrows, surrounded them. Sev did nothing more than lay an arm across Frodo's chest and gently push him out of harm's way.

The Elf captain stepped forward, eyeing Gimli with contempt. "The dwarf is so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

Gimli humphed at that, but was led on to the heart of Lorien before he could protest anything more. The proceedings following that were not much to speak of, simply that they entered Lorien blindfolded as the Elves would have them.

The architecture shimmered and glowed. Sev blinked, her eyes unadjusted after the darkness. But something more about it plagued her, Frodo felt. The Elves kept them under strict bounds, and Frodo could say or do nothing of it.

They began speaking in Elvish. Frodo understood it, and did not realize they had transitioned language until Gimli protested lack of courtesy on their part. Frodo winced when he swore at them.

"That was not so courteous," Aragorn reprimanded.

The captain spoke of an evil, that they could not pass through Lorien because of it. He glanced at Frodo, which Frodo had expected, but then those eyes turned to Sev and stayed there. Surprised, Frodo glanced at her. The journal slipped from within his vest and he flicked his eyes to it. Then he remembered. That poison in her bloodstream; she carried a weight just as large as his own.

In her journal she spoke of it often, and Frodo felt his heart melt just a little bit. He understood now, at least a little bit.

Sev stepped forward, speaking boldly in Elvish. "Captain, I mean no disrespect, but the evil I bear is of no harm to you." The Fellowship all glanced at her with wide eyes, and the Elves just seemed skeptical. "I have controlled my blood, insofar as many of you bear injuries that I would drain and have refused the evil that would follow me. On my behalf, rest assured, you can permit this company passage through your woods. Throw me out if you will"—with this she turned to Frodo—"but I am obligated to help the Ringbearer in his journey and will protect him despite my circumstances."

Frodo settled under her gaze. She wanted to protect him, and her words could not have said it better than her pricking eyes. He swallowed and closed in on himself as Aragorn carried a conversation with the Elf captain. She spoke to Legolas for a moment, then eyed the book in Frodo's hands. He froze; he should have known to approach her about it before, but didn't want to.

But then, after she studied it, she shrugged and turned away.

So apparently she didn't mind him reading it. He sighed in relief, then against his better judgement flipped it open. Perhaps it would take his mind off of the voice bounding through his head.

He read an entry that had been written recently. He flipped through the pages; there were only a few left with writing on them. The last was on the day before they left on the adventure; she had probably brought it along to write in.

Then he paused as he read.

 _I can bear it no longer. I will die one of these days . . . Willation told me my blood would run sour. Frodo is the one I love, I will only write it once more. I cannot abide thinking how he cannot . . . how, at least, he shall not more than wonder at when I am finally gone._

Frodo frantically flipped to the back. Her handwriting was blotched with water, and he could not read it. He sat, dumbfounded. Just then the Elf captain told the Fellowship to follow him, and Frodo's thoughts were turned back to the Enchantress Gimli had warned about. He slipped the book back into his vest and followed.

Sev would not look at him. She pulled her cloak tightly around herself, shivering. He felt an overwhelming need to have her by him, or at least do something for her. He took off his cloak and laid it across her shoulders.

Her eyes expanded in shock. "Frodo, don't tell me you're not cold either. I thank you, but . . . really, you can't afford it."

Her warmth was enough; it was better than the cloak. He stopped her, slipping it over her neck. He gently brushed her hair out from beneath it; it flowed from his fingers in thick swathes as he pulled her into his arms.

"No, I'm not cold." She thanked him, her face turning deep gray, almost purple. He grinned to himself as they walked. When it warmed up, he took his cloak back, but remained by her side.

They were brought to a graceful staircase winding up the side of a tree. As they ascended, Sev's hackles raised, and she squinted. She tried to fall behind Frodo, but he kept his arm around her as they walked up. Soon they were brought before Celeborn and the Lady of Light, Galadriel. As the Elves approached, the night filled with light. Sev shrank back, but Frodo could only see her through his peripheral. He was entranced by Galadriel; he knew her eyes. She had spoken to him.

Celeborn asked about Gandalf. None of the Fellowship wished to speak of it. Frodo felt a pang against his heart, and Galadriel told them not to mourn. He glanced back at Sev, and Galadriel followed his gaze. But then her eyes settled on Frodo. She spoke in a hissing Elvish that pierced him, and he blinked hard, shying away. Sev caught him with a hand to his shoulders.

They were guided back down the stairs, and settled beneath the roots of a great tree to rest. The Elves were singing about Gandalf; Legolas did not translate, but Frodo could understand it regardless. He backed into his corner. Sev was perching on the root above him, but she soon dropped from there and sat down next to him.

"The Lady Galadriel spoke to you, yes?"

Frodo paused. "How did you know?" he asked uncertainly.

"She spoke to me too, in the woods and here." Sev settled just far enough away that Frodo could not feel the unnatural warmth. "Get some rest. I would hope she doesn't talk you into staying awake all night. She and I will have words, I promise."

Frodo smiled, although it was difficult, as he laid down. She pecked his cheek before turning away, and he fell into troubled rest.

He was not deep enough to dream very hard. Images, feelings, from all since the last time he had really slept caught up with him. Gandalf fell in Moria a hundred times. Galadriel's voice rang out against his ears, over and over. Sev's hands caught him. Her warmth disappeared from his side, only for him to bring it back. Her journal, that despair, filled him. Her lips to his cheek . . .

He snapped to a sitting position when he heard Galadriel's gentle voice. "You cannot bear it."

Then Sev's sharp whisper followed. "Well, it's on a chain now. I'm certain I could carry it."

"No. Frodo is meant to have it."

Sev began defending against that, saying that 'meant to' was an illegitimate reason. Frodo stood and followed them; they were not walking quickly, and yet Sev's feet moved fast, as though she were restless. She sounded restless as well. "Frodo cannot be left alone to do this! My lady, I can help him."

Then Galadriel said something that pierced Frodo. She said Seville could change his end, that her decisions could determine his outcome. He ground to an instant halt at that.

Sev continued, undeterred by Galadriel's statement as if that were old news to her. "Even if I weren't involved, I still think he should be given the chance to decide his own fate."

"He chose to bear the Ring."

Frodo stopped again. He thought back; that was true. Sev shot back, "He was hardly given an option! He is the only one brave and powerless enough to bear that cursed, shameful Ring, and you say there is nothing on this earth that can change the misery and pain that will befall him because he was corralled into carrying this burden."

Sev's words panged against him as she turned down a black staircase after Galadriel. She cared enough. Then she said, "There has to be a way."

Galadriel finally turned to face her. Sev halted, feet scrambling to keep grip on the staircase with her sudden stop. "Can you heal the heart that has lost its pieces? Can you understand pain that one carries every day without fail, and adapt that as a lifestyle?"

Frodo stopped on his way down the stairs. Sev did not reply. She could have said anything, but she didn't. He'd read her journal; she knew pain better than any of them. Her words were drenched with despair within its pages. She lived it.

The moment Galadriel and Sev had left the stairs, the Enchantress let the anti-creature aside. Sev stepped back, and then her eyes met Frodo's. They were begging him to turn back before something worse happened.

Frodo stepped carefully down from the final stair. Galadriel turned to him with a silver pitcher in her hands. "Will you look into the mirror?"

Frodo eyed them both. "What will I see?"

"Even the wisest cannot tell," Galadriel said, a sly grin overcoming her face. She held the pitcher over the basin as she explained it could show anything . . . from what had transpired to what hadn't. A sudden fear gripped Frodo, and did not seem to want to back away even as Sev approached. He stepped up to the basin, glancing within. All he could see, however, was himself. He turned back to Galadriel, but she remained stoic. He glanced back inside.

Images flashed before him of the Fellowship. The final one of Sev kissing his cheek . . . then he could see Hobbiton. A fire raged over it, orcs beating and killing. The remains of the Shire were black and burned. He saw Sam, marching with enslaved hobbits. Sev fought back, only to be dragged away. Frodo's eyes refused to look away. He froze at what they did to her. They could not kill her, but she died eventually from blood loss.

Then the Eye of Sauron overwhelmed the image. The Ring pulled Frodo's neck, farther and farther down, until it nearly fell to the Eye. He grabbed it and threw himself back. Sev caught him, but his momentum was enough that both of them collapsed.

"I know what it is you saw," Galadriel said gravely. Frodo stood and brought Sev up with him. "For it is also in my mind." Her eyes grew dark. _It is what shall come to pass if you should fail. The Fellowship is breaking; it has already begun._

Frodo pulled the Ring from his neck. Perhaps she would take it, even if Sev's persuasion had not worked. _If you wish it, I will give you the One Ring._

When Galadriel's eyes glittered dangerously, Frodo knew he had just triggered something, possibly wrong. "You offer it to me freely." She advanced, her hand stretched out. Sev growled from beside him. "I admit my heart has greatly desired this . . . instead of a Dark Lord, _you should have a queen!_ "

Suddenly she flared into a dark state; her eyes grew and deepened. Frodo shrank away as she spoke, glorifying the reign she could imagine. _"All would love me and despair—!"_ She staggered, falling back to herself. Sev relaxed against Frodo's arm.

"I've passed the test," Galadriel gasped. Then she turned, countenance settling. "I shall diminish, and go into the West . . . and remain Galadriel."

Frodo paused, feeling Sev near him. He needed her to go home, needed her to stay protected. "I don't want to do this alone," he said. He felt the warmth increase as Sev reached for his hand . . . but she stopped.

"To bear a Ring of Power," Galadriel said intently, "is to be alone." Sev's expression darkened and she backed away. "This is the Ring of Adamant," Galadriel said, lifting her hand, "and I am its keeper."

Frodo's face fell. "I know what I have to do," he said slowly. "It's just . . ." He glanced up at Sev. Her eyes were pricking. If he somehow managed to keep her safe with the Elves—leave her in Lorien—he would miss those eyes. "I'm afraid to do it."

Galadriel bent down near. Sev stepped back by him protectively. He gathered she did not trust Galadriel.

"Even the smallest person can change the course of the future," the Enchantress said gently. Then she admonished Frodo to rest. As he walked to the stairs, he glanced back at Sev, who was watching.

"Are you coming?"

She shrugged. "I won't be a moment." He continued carefully, but soon heard Sev, and he stopped at the top of the stairs. "This Ringbearer is not alone," she said sternly. "I don't know if you would believe me, but I know pain. I live pain, Lady Galadriel, and I understand living every day with a power so great and terrible you want to throw yourself into the sea for it. If that is not what Frodo suffers from now, I beg you to tell me that my cause is hopeless."

He tuned out for Galadriel's response. He sank to his knees, watching Sev's defiant expression. He couldn't leave her here, not with that attitude and that resilience. At least, he knew, he wouldn't be alone. And wasn't. She knew the struggle. He had to carry a Ring; she had to carry her lifetime.

Sev ascended the stairs after bowing to Galadriel. Frodo was still a little stunned, so Sev pulled him back to the tree roots and laid him down, wrapping him in his own cloak. He felt restless, but hadn't the mental strength to resist her.

She left and perched on the root again. Frodo glanced up.

"Sev?"

He continued when she glanced at him.

"You would really bear the Ring for me?"

She nodded, her eyes glinting with concern, a smile, and a sweet . . . admiration, almost. He didn't understand entirely. Sleep overcame him uneasily. His thoughts were racing. He didn't realize he was no longer awake until he half-awakened to Sev's fingers tracing his cheek gently. He did not move. Everything was so muddled; the warmth pierced his numbness, soothing him into real rest.


	14. I Made a Promise, Frodo Baggins

Aragorn was anxious to leave Lorien the next morning. Galadriel lined up the Fellowship, but told Frodo to go stand off elsewhere. Sev joined him despite Galadriel's wary glance at her. She actually told Sev to remain with the rest, but Frodo took Sev's hand and pulled her with him.

She presented gifts to most of the Fellowship, but when she got to Gimli Sev leaped forward and offered her knife, as well as a wooden box she had brought. Then, with Galadriel's blessing, she stood up high and neatly severed three hairs and gently curled them into the wooden box.

Galadriel brought them away from the rest of the Fellowship before she presented Sev with a mithril dagger and an Elvish rope. Then she turned to Frodo, offering him a glass vial.

"The Light of Earendil," she said reverently, "our most beloved star." She kissed the top of Frodo's head; it surprised him, admittedly. When Sev had done it, it was warm and soft. Galadriel was rather formal and conservative, relatively speaking. He glanced at Sev, wondering when she might do it again. "Let it be a light for you," Galadriel continued, "when all other lights go out."

He did not turn away from Sev. "All of them?"

Galadriel confirmed that. Sev bowed to the Enchantress, and received a kiss to her head as well. They immediately departed for the canoes; Frodo, Sev, and Aragorn took one.

They traveled the fogged rivers all that day until nightfall. When they set up that night, Sev vanished immediately. But she was not gone long, while Frodo situated himself to prepare for sleep. She sat near where Aragorn and Boromir were talking in harsh whispers, but then sighed and fell to her cloak.

Frodo was shaken out of his present thoughts by Sam. He didn't turn around, but jolted back to reality. Sev glanced at him and laid down, facing away.

"Mr. Frodo, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Sam," he said, exhausted.

"I know something's wrong," Sam insisted. "You haven't eaten all day, and you aren't sleeping! Please, Mr. Frodo; I want to help."

Frodo's eyes settled on Sev. She was shivering. Sam couldn't help; Sam didn't know. Frodo wished beyond anything that Sam could be there for him . . . but it was not in the same way Sev could.

He turned to glance at Sam, who had knelt beside him with a pleading expression. "You can't help me this time, Sam," he said, defeated. He turned away, hoping Sam would go and rest before Frodo could hurt him anymore . . . or until Frodo could be hurt anymore.

Sam wished him a good night and departed for his cloak. Out of the corner of his eye, Frodo saw Sev flip over, but when he turned, she was again staring into the opposite distance. She had been watching him, he realized.

"Sev?"

She didn't face him. "You don't need help?" She shivered again.

Frodo reached for her . . . then stopped. He sighed. "No. I just know Sam can't help me. And there was no other real way to tell him."

Finally Sev turned to him. "You would deny him the ability to help?" She had an edge, something deeper, to her voice. Frodo shook his head; "He can't, Sev. You must see that."

He tapped the ground beside him, hoping she could come and sit down. She did so, but brought her cloak with her, slipping it off of her. She laid it across him, then sidled up to his arm. He draped it over her shoulders initially.

"He can't help, but if he could, would you let him?" she asked.

Frodo sank just a little bit. He wished Sam could help. "Of course I would," he said. "I would love it if he could help. But you heard Galadriel."

Sev's expression fell, and she nodded.

"And I heard you," he said. As he had predicted, she glanced up, desperation and hope filling her eyes as she studied him. "You said you knew pain, Sev," he continued. "More than I ever could. And Lady Galadriel, she said that you could help, that you could understand."

Sev's head laid on his shoulder. He wondered if she needed to rest, if she would just stay there as long as Frodo had the capacity to sit there awake. Her voice startled him. The peace of her warm head against his shoulder fizzled for a moment as she began to speak, but settled right back after the breach of silence had passed.

"Fighting for something you don't entirely understand . . . that needs to be done but somehow doesn't really add up to the pain it causes you. Something that is mandatory, a duty you have that you can't uphold because you don't believe in it. All right, so you believe in it, but not its benefits." She paused, then continued. "Every day hacks away at your heart because where you are going will save all but yourself. You don't see what's worth fighting for because everything huge is fighting against you, and you live with the pain. No one understands; no one gets it! Everyone around you says, 'Oh, I know the pain. Oh, I can help.' And you take what you can get, but really, no one suffers so much. No one wants every day to end just so the next one can end too."

She stopped abruptly after her speech. Frodo listened to her words fading on the air; he hadn't felt all of it yet, but it was becoming what she described. In fact, he could feel that . . . the need for one day to end just so the next could as well. That's what kept him awake, was worrying about slipping farther into that feeling.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Frodo's eyes widened with shock. "Sev . . . that's it," was all he said. Then he glanced at her face. Her head felt so warm. He tilted her face up to look at him and kissed her forehead. The unnatural warmth flowed through his core until his lips left her.~

"I'm never getting any sleep out here," Sev said, her voice deepened. "Anywhere I lie, there's a great root sticking into my back."

Frodo grinned and laid down. Sev took her cloak back, but draped his own over him. "Just imagine you're back in an Elvish bed, with an angelic mattress, and ten lovely feather pillows," he said, trying not to laugh.

Sev laughed. "Good night," she said. Then her hand settled against his shoulder, rubbing gently. His eyes rolled shut at the warmth that spread there. "I know it's hard, Frodo. Hard to wake up, hard to have a night's rest because the next day will be hard anyway. And a lifetime looks impossible, but I promise things look up." She hesitated, letting her hand to his face. It traveled through his hair, only to come back to his cheek. "I promise."

He rolled over to face her. "What do you mean?"

She turned light gray. "That pain I was talking about. It comes and goes, in huge periods of time . . . it fluctuates." She departed with her own cloak, laying down a few yards away. "It helps to have someone who understands."

"Did you ever give up on life?" He knew from her journal that she couldn't kill herself unless she waited for her blood to drain away.

"A thousand times," she replied, but she sounded like she had more to say. Frodo remained perfectly still, waiting for what seemed like an eternity until a whisper pierced the air.

"Until I met you."

He slept like he never had before.

They rowed for endless hours the next day. Sev kept glancing to the banks of the river, and Frodo finally laid a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and turned back to face him.

"Sev?"

She did not respond, for Aragorn pulled off to the bank right away. Sev leaped out to find firewood as Gimli began said fire. Frodo walked after her, but she vanished too quickly, slinking into the woods like she always had. So Frodo decided now would be the time to gain the energy before going to Mordor.

Boromir was gathering wood as well, and approached him soon after he began walking.

"No one should be out alone, much less you," he said cautiously.

Frodo's eyes flickered about, watching for Sev. "I'm not alone, Boromir."

"I know why you seek solitude." Despite Frodo's objections, Boromir ranted about how the Ring was causing him more pain, and how it ought to be used as a weapon against Sauron.

Frodo's heart hammered against his chest. Finally it coughed out: "What you say I would think wisdom but for the warning in my heart." A slight heat dotted against him. Sev was nearby somewhere.

"I only ask for the chance to save my people!" Boromir shouted, throwing his pile of wood on the ground.

Frodo backed away, searching frantically for Sev. She'd have no trouble pulling a knife against Boromir at this point. "You are not yourself."

Finally Sev emerged from a nearby bush, her pile of firewood slapping against the ground as she leaped out. "Frodo!"

Her name was nearly out of his mouth when Boromir attacked him, threatening to take the Ring. He scrambled away, only to fall beneath Boromir's hands. He grappled for the Ring, and Sev's knife hissed over Boromir. The warrior only flinched for a moment; then Sev tackled him from behind. It distracted Boromir long enough for Frodo to slip the Ring over his finger and dash away from Boromir.

He could hear Boromir's voice ringing through the forest as he ran, farther and farther away. Finally he ascended a stone stairway, racing to the top. He settled, exhausted, against a pillar . . . until the Eye approached him. It burned and seethed.

 _I see you_ , it cracked.

Frodo stood, yanking the Ring from his finger. He tumbled over the stone, falling from the height of the structure he had run up from and collapsing in a heap at its base. He gasped as he stood. Then he swallowed. Now that Sev was gone and Boromir's danger had escalated, he had to go to Mordor alone. He hadn't thought he could leave her.

This time he had no choice but to lose her.

He heard heavy footsteps behind him, and he turned. "Frodo?" Aragorn asked.

Frodo scrambled away, but Aragorn stopped him.

"Boromir tried to take it," Frodo explained carefully. Aragorn knelt before him, and Frodo shrank away minimally before producing the Ring. "Would you destroy it?"

Aragorn stared down at the Ring, enchantment fighting conviction. He reached for the Ring, and Frodo didn't move. Then he closed Frodo's fingers over the Ring and stared up into the hobbit's eyes. Frodo wondered if that would be the last time he saw Aragorn.

"I would have gone with you to the end," Aragorn said.

Frodo nodded to him. His respect for the man had only ever increased. "Look after the others. Especially Sam; he won't understand." Then he swallowed. "And Sev—," he couldn't finish.

"Will be crushed," Aragorn said, standing. Frodo's eyes slipped closed. She had been so intent on being there for him, and she could have been if Frodo didn't love her enough to leave her alive and safe in the hands of Aragorn. "She will follow you."

Frodo opened his mouth to respond, but Aragorn backed away from him. Frodo glanced down, and Sting caught his eye. He unsheathed the sword but an inch; it glowed blue. Aragorn spun around. Orcs were pouring from the woods ahead of them.

"Run, Frodo," Aragorn said, unsheathing his sword. When Frodo didn't move, Aragorn became urgent. "Run!"

Frodo turned and raced away. He hoped Aragorn could handle himself. He didn't trust anyone else of the Fellowship to take care of Sev. As he ran, he hoped beyond anything that she was safe right then.

He ducked behind trees to hide, and finally pulled behind one he could catch his breath by. He could hear the crunch of armor behind him.

Then he saw Sam, Merry, and Pippin hiding under a log, staring at him. His eyes grew wide as Merry's brows lowered. He could see his mouth move, form the words "He's leaving." They all turned to look at the orcs . . . and then Sev joined them. They looked back to Frodo, then to the orcs that were nearing quickly.

Internally Frodo begged them not to. This was too soon; Sev couldn't. They couldn't. It was too much.

Merry laid a hand on Sev's shoulder, then stood, waving his arms frantically. "Hey! We're over here!" Pippin joined him, and soon the orcs were chasing them. They raced down the hill.

Frodo remained until he knew it was too dangerous. Sam would take care of Sev, possibly. He was running out of hope fast. He sprang from his position by the tree and raced away.

He only slowed when he reached the shore, the canoe open wide for him to accept his fate. He swallowed, staring at it. Then he produced the Ring from his pocket, wondering how he'd gotten himself into this.

Then he remembered: he hadn't. It had fallen to his hands. He could have done nothing, and yet he wished he could have done everything.

He could hear a voice from days ago. _I wish the Ring had never come to me._ Tears pricked his eyes and slid down his cheeks. _I wish none of this had happened!_

Another voice joined him. _So do all who wish to see such times, but that is not for them to decide._ Gandalf only spurred more tears.

And Sev finally broke it all, soothing and hurting him. _The only decision left to you left to you is what to do with the opportunities you've been given._ Her hand was gentle against the top of his head, and he leaned into it wistfully. If one of them or both didn't make it, he would never feel her hands again. _And you've made the right decision . . . saving the world like a knight on a quest_.

He straightened. If he wanted to see her again he had to make it through this. Conviction set, decision made (right according to her), he shoved the canoe into the water and leaped inside, grabbing one of the paddles right off.

"Frodo!" He heard Sev behind him. For a moment his hopes peered anxiously over his shoulder, but he shoved them down. He couldn't let her. "Frodo!"

"No, Sev." But when he turned, she charged into the river, sloshing through the water towards him.

"Go back, Sev!" He paused as he watched her, shoving through the water hard as she was. "I'm going to Mordor alone!" Even if he wanted her to come.

"You wouldn't last two minutes, you devil! You need people of intelligence on this mission—suicidal—thing!"

Oh, he loved her . . . but that was exactly why she needed to stay behind. "That's not encouraging," he said finally.

"Well, you're not supposed to go by yourself!"

Then he realized that if she drowned leaving her behind would be worse than taking her with. "But Sev, you can't swim!"

She looked incredulous. "Then come back and get me!" She was slipping fast. "Besides, now's a good time to lear—!" Then her head fell, and she sputtered, gasping, straining to stay above the water level.

"Sev!"

Then she vanished.

Frodo scrambled to the side of the canoe. "Sev!" When she did not emerge, he turned the canoe quickly. He located her fast; her bush of hair drifted in the water like bloodied kelp. Her eyes were closed, and he could see blackness fading from her neck to spread into the water. He grabbed her hand, and she held it back. She gasped as she emerged, and he pulled her up into the canoe.

Sev got onto her knees. Her hair swamped everything from her forehead to waist. "I made a promise, Frodo Baggins," she said, voice muffled. Frodo brought his hands to her face, laying all of her hair behind her shoulders. "A promise! I'll never leave you, Frodo, because you never left me." His hands laid on her face, and she swallowed against them. "I'll never leave."

Frodo struggled for a moment, unsure if he was more glad she was coming or terrified for her life. If he wanted her safe or by his side. If he wanted to kiss her or just hold her. He did not know. "Oh, Sev." He pulled her into his arms, and her warmth counteracted the water covering her. He could not let go; she'd slip away again if he did.

"Come, Frodo," she said finally, grabbing an oar. He sat behind her, and they both rowed. They reached the Eastern shore quickly, and the woods faded into a wasteland even faster.

Frodo could see a volcano looming over the horizon, throwing red sparks through the darkening sky. "Mordor," he breathed. "I hope the others find a safer road."

Sev spoke from behind him. "Aragorn will look after them."

His heart twanged. "I don't suppose we'll ever see them again?"

"Perhaps not in this life," she said, "but we will."

Frodo smiled. "Sev . . ." he said. He turned. Her, there with him, was enough. "I'm glad you're with me." His hand traveled to her shoulder, rubbing up and down very carefully.

They turned and were off to Mordor then.


	15. Path to Mordor

The Ring grew infinitely more powerful, and Frodo knew he couldn't have taken this alone. Even with Sev constantly near him, he felt a great weight on his heart that he couldn't break. Sometimes he wondered how much her pain bothered her, but whenever he asked, she told him his problem was more immediate, and said nothing more.

Frodo didn't want to rest. Sev didn't have to; he envied that. They could have the Ring to Mount Doom twice as fast if Frodo refrained from rest . . . but Sev insisted. Sleep was not much good anyway; he had nightmares about Gandalf.

This particular one went back to Moria. Gandalf fell again, and Frodo's cry of pain followed him down a black chasm after the demon. He slashed at Borgrog with his sword, and they tumbled towards the water below . . .

The crash awakened him. "Gandalf!"

"Frodo?"

Frodo didn't look at her. He was sitting up. "Nothing, Sev. It's fine." He laid back down. "Just a dream."

A warmth shielded his back as Sev approached. Her head settled against his own, over his shoulder. He hadn't expected it, and the warmth calmed him.

"Frodo, just a dream or not, it's important to me if it's causing you trouble." She glanced at him, her eyes wide. Frodo smiled, although it was initially difficult. He could do little else; the temptation to kiss her, to let everything drift away channeled through his lips to hers for the slightest of moments, was too much. He had to focus on the Ring. "You can tell me," she continued. "Please don't burden yourself with this."

It seemed he had not much option but to speak. "I dreamed about Moria."

Sev's fingers settled into his hair and traced in circles. His eyes flickered as he described it to her.

Sev paused. "I miss him too," she said, her voice breaking. Frodo rolled over and pulled her into his arms. She lifted him to a half sitting position, and he settled his head against her shoulder. She consoled him gently, and he fell asleep to her words.

He shivered when she let him down into his cloak and backed away. He slept probably for a short time longer when he woke initially of himself.

"Are you ready, Frodo?" she asked gently. His mind muddled, he nodded numbly.

They came to a cliff some time later, and Sev peered over the edge. She suggested they go around, but Frodo pointed out they were already lost. Sev shrugged and pulled the Elvish rope from her waist, tying it neatly around the rock and letting the remainder fall over the edge.

"I'll go down first—," She turned to him, and he shook his head. Then he noticed she was carrying his pack. He didn't feel abnormally light, but when had she started carrying it? He held out his hand to take it.

She held out her own and briskly shook his. The tingles traveled up his arm, and he yearned to pull her to him. He refrained; she knew he wanted the pack.

"No need for farewells," she said brightly, laying the enthusiasm a little thick to be real. "I'm not going to die yet."

Frodo shook his head; when Sev's hand left, he felt a little empty. "Give me the pack, Sev," he said.

She shook her head. "I'll not give you the pack, Frodo." She adjusted it on her shoulders as though to prove her point. "Now I'm going down first."

Frodo didn't want to fall on her, and he didn't want her to fall anyway. Stubborn girl; he pulled the pack from her resistant shoulders, grabbed the rope, and started rappelling down the cliff face.

"Frodo, you devil!" Sev pursued him into the fog. He sighed; he should have known she would be reckless on her way down if he went first, but he didn't really trust himself on the loose stones. Particularly since the end wasn't in sight.

As if response to his thought, Sev called down to him. "Can you see the bottom?"

He glanced behind him. "No; don't look down, Sev, just keep going!"

A moment later, he heard her foot, slick against the stone. He jolted, stiffening, but she did not fall. Something else did, and she called out a warning. He grabbed the object; it was a small, wooden box. He wondered at what could be in it . . . and then his foot gave from beneath him, and he collapsed, falling into the mist. The empty air swallowed him before he could really process.

"Frodo!" Sev called out. Then Frodo, half getting a grip on the rope, felt his feet collide solidly with rock below, and he stumbled back. "I think I've found the bottom!" he called up.

He surveyed the area; when she was within earshot, he could hear her muttering angrily: "Dang it, dang it, dang it . . ."

He turned to her when she reached the base of the cliff. She seemed intensely distressed, and searched him up and down, probably for signs of harm. He held up the box.

"What is this?" he asked.

Sev sighed, exasperated and embarrassed. "Nothing," she said. "Just a box of seasoning. Sam told me, 'Best salt in all the Shire!' He gave it to me, apparently in case we were having a . . ." She pondered for a moment. "A roast chicken, or something."

Frodo gawked, incredulous. Oh, Sam; so very much like Sam to suggest that kind of a thing. "Roast chicken?" he said, laughing. Sev turned dark gray—then light purple—at that; she felt chagrined, or something. Her voice grew sarcastic. "You never know."

He sighed. "Sev . . . my dear Sev . . ." He opened the box, staring at the salt within. His face fell; he missed the Shire, compared to this rock. This was no home. And yet, with Sev, he could abide it.

"I'm so sorry, Frodo," she said just then, settling on her knees some distance away. She sounded jocose, but looked broken. "I almost cost you your life for a chicken." She tightened her hood across her face. "Now I am ashamed."

Frodo peered down at her, bending close. "It's special, though." She glanced up, and he slipped the box into his pack. "It's a little bit of home." He smiled encouragingly, and she tried to smile back. Then he turned to the rope.

"We can't leave this for someone to follow us down."

"Like who?" He glanced at Sev. She was not a nitwit; he saw in her eyes that she knew what he was talking about . . . and then he realized Gollum would not need rope. He turned back to it. It would be hard to leave it.

"I guess I could climb back up, untie it, and jump back down," Sev said. She sounded absolutely serious, and Frodo turned, staring at her. She wouldn't; couldn't. She held up her hands in surrender. "I'm kidding, I swear! It is a shame, though . . . half my gift from Lady Galadriel. But it's one of Sam's knots; if I did it right, it's not coming down anytime soon."

Frodo grabbed the rope and tugged. She had done it right, he knew, but he felt it might come down. He certainly didn't want her going up. At his touch, it quickly gave and slithered down the ropes, landing in a heap in front of Sev.

He turned to face her. "Real Elvish rope," he said. She picked it up, glancing at the strands of it.

"Apparently. It would have let us fall were it loose."

"Come, Sev," he said. He let out his hand; he wanted hers back, and there were few opportunities that he could have it. She accepted it immediately, and he pulled her to her feet. They continued on.

Soon they were on a peak of the labyrinth of rock, overlooking the entire expanse between them and the Eye of Sauron.

"Mordor," Sev said quietly. She trembled. "The one place in Middle Earth we don't want to see any closer, the one place we're trying to get to. It's just where we can't get." Then she turned. She paused, and so did Frodo. "Let's face it, Frodo; we're lost. And I'm not sure there's much we can do about it but keep getting lost. I don't think Gandalf meant for us to come this way."

She seemed a little regretful the moment the words were out of her mouth, but if Frodo were to hear Gandalf's name from anyone, it would be the one who listened to him as he ranted about his nightmares.

"He didn't mean for a lot of things to happen, Sev," Frodo said quietly, "but they did." His gaze turned to the distance before she could respond, and somehow it flew farther than it should, over the mountains so far away. The Eye, fiery and full of malice, pierced his vision, then filled it.

The Ring pulled at his neck and weighed hard on his heart. He gasped and sat down, chest heaving.

Sev's voice carved through the pulsing pain.

"Frodo?"

She stepped forward, then halted. "It's the Ring," she said. When he glanced up, she was eyeing it. "You can see the Eye too, can't you?"

"It's getting heavy," he said, grabbing it. As though that would make it lighter, or stop the pain from biting away at him.

It surprised him, and apparently the Ring, when Sev approached. The Ring left him and began to throb, reaching for Sev. She took Frodo's hand, and it fought back that darkness, that weight. She pulled it away from the Ring and sat down beside him.

"Thank you, Sev," he said. It didn't come out like he had expected, but that was all right, he hoped. Apparently not; she backed away far too soon. His hand felt cold. She swung the pack around her shoulder (Frodo knew not how she had gotten it back) and pulled out a waterskin that she then handed him. He drank from it what he could; he realized then that the Ring had parched him.

And he was hungry as well.

"What food have we got left?" he asked.

Sev's voice started out sarcastic, and Frodo shook his head to himself with a grin. "Well, let's see." She shuffled through the pack, pulling out a pile of leaves. Her eyebrows shot up, one slightly higher than the other. "Lembas bread," she said, feigning excitement. Frodo stifled a laugh. "Oh, look!" She produced another one. " _More_ lembas bread." Then she shook her head, sincerity locking her expression. She chipped off a square and tossed it to Frodo.

"I'm sorry, Frodo," she said. "I wish we had something else."

He caught it between his hands and nibbled at it. "At least it's food, Sev," he said. "You won't eat any?"

She shook her head. "I don't need food." Then he remembered; all she needed was to heal an injury to sustain herself. He wondered what that would be like, to not need food. He heard a minimal crack as she ate a small piece, despite her statement. "Usually I don't love hard food, but this is really not bad."

Frodo grinned. "Nothing ever dampened your sarcasm, did it, Sev?"

Sev paused, and a slight sigh escaped. Her eyes flickered for only a moment; she replaced the lembas and pulled her knees to her face. He cocked his head, stepping over to her.

"Sev?"

She glanced up, as though she had no idea what was going on. "What?" She sounded frivolous, but he knew better.

He sat down and put his arm around her, half to quell the Ring's beating against him. If she wasn't going to tell him, he'd have to lay it out. Then she'd have no words else to go to. "Sev, what happened to you?"

"When?"

He shook his head. She wouldn't look at him; he took that as a sign of guilt. "There must have been a time when your good humor was taken, because you didn't say."

"I told you before," she pointed out, "I know pain, Frodo." Her eyes flickered up to him, searching for sympathy but refusing to find it. He didn't think twice about kissing her, but she turned away before he could. Thunder cracked in the distance as he looked up, too. "Leave it to rain to dampen sarcasm," she said.


	16. Bruise Before the Marsh

It did rain that night. Sev settled him against a cliff of stone, sandwiched between two great walls, guarding as best they could from the wind and the rain. Frodo shivered. He hoped Sev was all right. He felt her warmth nearby at one point or another, and some of it never departed. He took that as perhaps an omen of survival, and held his cloak tighter around him.

Then he glanced up. He could see a white, spidery shape slinking across the nearest ridge. He stared intently at it. He heard Sev hissing nearby, and he turned, shocked that she was still awake.

"Sev?"

She shook her head. "Nothing that you weren't aware of yourself."

Then he noticed she was dressed simply in her vest, leggings, and white shirt. He frowned. "Where's your cloak?"

She shrugged, and her voice shivered with partial disguising. "I'm not a hundred percent sure." That was her way of getting out of a full description; she claimed never to be entirely sure of anything. "I was half-asleep when I hid it." Then she leaned forward, laying her hand over his forehead. Her warm fingers immediately dried the rain beading there, and Frodo nestled in the warmth.

"Now go to sleep before I knock you out," she said.

Frodo buried his face in his knees. He heard Sev sigh audibly. He wondered how she could abide the cold. Perhaps she really did have some sort of immunity, and maybe he could sense it. Was that why she felt so warm? Was Frodo simply cold all the time?

He did not sleep much. The rain carried on . . . and on . . . eventually it gathered in the fabric of his cloak, bearing down on him with intense weight. He shivered, trembling uncontrollably as the tension of dropped temperature overwhelmed him. He laid his head back on the rock, trying to relax . . . when he felt a warm finger brush his nose. He did not move; it soothed him, and he relaxed easily. Then he felt his entire torso lifted away from the rock, and the soft warmth of Sev's arms surrounded his shoulders. He leaned against her shoulder, initially trying to appear asleep. Apparently it worked, for she did not leave him until the greatest and darkest of rain had passed.

He thought he felt her lips against his ear as she whispered: "I love you, Frodo." He wondered if he had dreamed it . . . but it didn't feel as though he had. She had certainly said the same at times before, within his dreams and without.

The next morning she made no acknowledgement of it, as had been the case in the past when she had kissed his cheek, or done anything, really. Frodo's bare threads of enthusiasm were torn away, however, as they began walking. The steps he took felt horribly familiar; the rocks in a recognizable pattern stood, mocking.

"This place looks familiar." Sev was being dreadfully sarcastic and obvious, but Frodo felt she had just said what he had been thinking.

"That's because we've been here before!" he cried out, hopeless. He sagged with subsequent despair. "We're going in circles!"

"I'd wager there's a swamp nearby," Sev said. "Can you smell it?"

Frodo didn't have to sniff the air to do so. "Yes, I can smell it." He stepped up to Sev's side and glanced at her. "We're not alone."

Sev nodded, and they both turned to continue walking. As they did, Frodo spoke quietly.

"I've seen him coming closer for the past few weeks," he said. "I know you saw him last night; that's the closest he's dared to come since we reached this wasteland." Then he turned to Sev. "If you're ever awake when I'm not, you might well let me know in some way when he comes."

Sev nodded again, this time more casually. "I'll just take my cloak back—," The moment the words were out of her mouth, both she and Frodo halted. Her face turned pale gray, and her face froze with shock. "I mean . . ."

Frodo frowned. "What do you mean, take your cloak back?"

Sev shrugged, deliberately setting a determined, careful expression. "You're cold at night, Frodo, and the only thing I can really do about that is to loan you my cloak. So I do. And I will take it back only when Gollum is nearby."

He tried, as they continued, to fight her logic, but she was severely adamant. Not aggressive, but she would not submit.

"Keep it, Sev," he said finally.

She seemed to muse over that. "I'll think about it."

"If I ever wake up with it, I'm giving it back," he said firmly. "You must be cold too." His voice softened with concern; she had to be so cold.

"Not as much as you are." Her voice drifted to that gentle wistfulness . . . that tone of protective caution. "Pay it no mind, Frodo. If I'm dying, I'll probably keep it."

When they laid down in their respective cloaks that night, Frodo did his best to stay awake. Sev couldn't. No cloak. No cloak . . .

Then his body warmed. His feet were finally shielded from the chilly night air, as he realized had been the case for some nights. Perhaps Sev would take it back if he got her to understand the situation from a more practical viewpoint.

"You'll do me no good frozen to death, Sev," he said.

"And you're carrying a Ring of power," she insisted. "Besides, I'm your guardian; I make the safety decisions!" He snickered to himself at that. "And remember my signal."

Frodo grew solemn. "I spotted him earlier; I know he's coming."

Sev did not respond. She probably felt she had won. Frodo stood a few moments later, reluctant to give up that warmth until he realized Sev was convulsing a little from the cold. At that point it was not difficult to give it up, to gently spread the cloak over Sev's curled form, to smooth it out carefully over her shoulder. She stretched, moaning delightedly. Then her face grew confused, finally understanding and somewhat discontented.

"Frodo, take it back." She was trying too hard to sound displeased; she sounded as though he had just done her a great favor. Perhaps he had. He didn't know how cold she had felt.

"No, Sev," he said, kneeling at her side. She would no doubt try to get up and follow him.

As he predicted, she abruptly sat up, nearly smacking into him. She sat up at a sharp angle, and would have a hard time staying up that way. Frodo initially held up her back with one hand; she felt so small, he actually felt keeping her sitting up was only bringing them closer. Their faces were inches apart, and her lips stood naturally dark against her face. He could hardly stay right where he was.

One more excuse: "It will strike Gollum as unusual to see it that way," Frodo said, swallowing back the kiss he intended. Then he gently traced his hand around her back to her shoulder and put a hand on the other shoulder, laying her down again. She looked stunned. "Rest, Sev," he added.

"You rest," she mumbled, turning over. "Devil."

Frodo studied her face for a moment, her smile straining not to become obvious. He wanted to kiss her; now was not the time. Although, while he was sitting here . . .

He lowered his face down close to hers, absorbing the warmth of her cheek. Then he gently brushed his lips against that cheek, and the warmth flooded into him as he backed away. He was reluctant to leave her.

A few minutes later, as he was wrapped in his own cloak, he heard Sev sigh. "Thank you, Frodo," she said, her voice tainted with pleasure. "It's a lot warmer."

"Good night, Sev." He could still feel her cheek against his kiss. He wondered if he'd ever forget that . . . or what else he might not forget soon to come. He did not know.

A voice cut off his thoughts; a dark, hissing voice filled with malice. "They're thieves! They stole it from us! Kills them! Kills them!" It grew steadily closer. "Where is it? My Precious . . . they hides it from us . . ."

Frodo felt his fingers inching closer, and he could sense Sev tensing. They sat up almost simultaneously, each grabbing one of Gollum's frail, brittle arms. Gollum hissed and sputtered, throwing Sev and Frodo in turn against the wall of rock. The creature began digging through Sev's abandoned cloak, then turned and leaped on Frodo when he spotted the Ring. Frodo crashed against the ground, grappling against Gollum. The creature reached for the Ring, and Frodo barely rolled out of the way.

Gollum began screeching, dragged backwards by Sev until he kicked at her. Frodo grabbed him to get him away from her, but Gollum attacked again. Sev got ahold of him around the waist, and he spun around, biting hard into her shoulder. Her cry of pain carved through Frodo, and he desperately scrambled for Sting. By the time he found it, Gollum had trapped Sev in a headlock on the ground, choking her. Her face grew dark gray.

Frodo unsheathed the sword and leaped down on Gollum, a menacing, livid feeling creeping through him like it never had. Then again, no one had ever tried to kill Sev before. He grabbed Gollum's head and forced it down, holding Sting's tip to his neck.

"This is Sting. You've seen it before, haven't you . . . Gollum?"

He had hoped to intimidate Gollum into submission, but Gollum's grip only tightened, and Sev's eyes rolled to the back of her head.

"Release her," Frodo said darkly, "or I'll cut your throat."

He found he himself could breathe again when Gollum's hold on Sev loosened. She strained for air, backing away. She grabbed her neck, and her lungs heaved. Frodo reached for her, but Gollum attempted to rush off. Frodo grabbed his wrist, sheathing Sting.

"Are you all right?"

Sev nodded wordlessly, finally crouching a small distance away. She nodded at Gollum questioningly.

"Get the rope," Frodo said.

Gollum protested this, his voice shrill and angry. Frodo threatened once again to pull out the sword if he tried to get away, and as he sat in a state of restless hesitancy, Sev managed to tie a loop around his neck. He screeched when the rope made contact with his bony flesh and Sev jolted, nearly jumping back.

The moment she had Gollum tied, Frodo threw a rock over the end of the rope and approached Sev. She glanced up at him, crouching in a terrified kind of way. He knelt down next to her while Gollum screeched behind him. He glanced at her bruise fleetingly.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded, a little uncertain. He stared at the growing line of black across her neck, and he gently touched it with his fingers. Her eyes grew wide, and she surveyed him curiously. He decided then to back away; the bruise raced with searing heat, and he wondered how much it hurt. She jumped a little when Gollum's shriek again pierced the night air.

Frodo realized they could not rest in circumstances like these. He told Sev they might as well move on. Gollum shrieked and screamed the whole way. Frodo couldn't make out words until some time along.

"It burns, it sears . . . it burns us!"

Once the sun was high, Sev abruptly turned, sharply snapping the rope. Gollum resisted and collapsed.

"Frodo, if this keeps up, all of Mordor is going to be drawn straight here," Sev said, patience limited in her tone. "But we can't let him go; he'll kill us. I think we ought to tie his mouth shut."

"No!" Gollum cried. "That would _kill_ us, kill us!"

"You'd live," she muttered, glancing at the ground. "But that's not the question."

Frodo sighed. "Maybe he deserves to die."

Sev shook her head, and Gollum began to wail harder, straining against the rope.

"But now that I see him . . . I do pity him," Frodo admitted. Sev's brow furrowed. He wondered if she was trying to agree or just trying to understand.

At Frodo's statement, Gollum's expression became hopeful. "We swears to do whatever he wants," Gollum said reverently, bowing. "We swears to serve the Master of the Precious." Gollum eyed the Ring. Sev tensed beside Frodo.

"There isn't a promise you can make that I would trust," Frodo said dangerously.

"We swears to be good!" Gollum cried. "We swears on . . . on . . . on the Precious!"

"The Ring is very treacherous," Frodo warned, "and we'll hold you to your word."

"He could be lying, Frodo," Sev said quietly, and with that Gollum leaped away. Sev buried her feet in the stones, and Gollum strangled himself against the rope, then rolled back down on the stones. He collapsed in a wailing, whining heap as far away from Sev as he could manage.

"Sev." Frodo turned to her, then held her upper arm. She glanced down at his hand, and he rubbed against her just a little. "We have to trust him." Frodo knelt down in front of Gollum, lifting the rope from off his neck. The creature looked shocked. "You know the way to Mordor. You've been there before," Frodo said.

Gollum nodded, very hesitant and somewhat suspicious. "Yes."

"You will lead us to the Black Gate," Frodo said firmly.

Sev inhaled.

Frodo and Sev pursued Gollum through complex paths, places they hadn't seen before. The creature insisted frequently that they hurry up. "Hurry, Master!" he said.

Soon Frodo could hear Gollum mumbling to himself, and Sev's eyes grew dark. She cracked her knuckles, and Frodo eyed her carefully. She just glanced back up at him; he noticed there was a dark line of bruise where Gollum had tried to strangle her. He didn't imagine she could trust the creature, not now. Frodo wanted to touch it, wanted to ask her if it hurt. But he said nothing—they had to hurry.

Gollum stopped abruptly, giving Frodo and Sev a chance to catch up. He concluded his muttered monologue, hissed loudly, and vanished.

They raced after him, but he had leaped over a boulder into a small crevice. "Frodo, he's gone," Sev said, a little downtrodden.

Then Gollum's head popped back up from the rocks. "Hurry, hobbitses! Mordor is a ways away yet!" Then he slipped off again. Frodo gave Sev a somewhat hopeful look and walked after him.

Mordor may have been some ways away, but the end of the labyrinth was not. They turned, and only a flat plain lay between them and the Eye of Fire, the mountains of Mordor.

"See? Gollum showed you out," Gollum said hopefully, if not a little cautiously. He allowed Frodo and Sev to go down first, and he followed quickly. He dodged ahead of them when they reached the plain.

Sev stepped in it first, and her foot shot down through the murk. It came back up stained. "A swamp," she muttered, surveying the landscape. She glanced back at Frodo and beckoned for him to come forward.

"Yes, yes, the swamp," Gollum said. "Hurry; Gollum will take you on safe paths through the mist. We found it—the safe way through the marshes. Orcses don't use it; orcses don't know it. They go around, for miles and miles and miles!"


	17. Another Path to Mordor

After only a little while, Sev asked if Frodo was hungry; she reminded him he hadn't eaten since early the day before. He felt a little chagrined as she produced lembas; Gollum had nothing to eat out here.

"Haven't seen a bird since coming here," Sev said. Her voice quivered as she watched Gollum. Frodo wondered if she thought Gollum was going to resort to eating her. "It's so quiet."

"No, no crunchable birdses," Gollum moaned. He delightedly scooped up a worm. Sev turned away as he slurped it, and immediately he turned back to insisting that he would starve. Frodo eyed the lembas in his hand, then chipped off a small bit and tossed it to Gollum.

"What is it?" Gollum asked excitedly. "Is it . . . tasty?"

Sev squeezed her eyes shut. Frodo cocked his head at her, but soon after his own eyes closed, remorse nipping at him when he heard Gollum's cry.

"We can'ts eat hobbit food!" Gollum shouted. He groaned, rolling about helplessly. "We starves! We wastes away!" Gollum moaned loudly.

"There's not much we can do about that," Sev said under her breath.

"The girl one . . . she doesn't care! She doesn't care if we're hungry . . . she doesn't care if we _die_!" Then he looked to Frodo hungrily. "Not like Master." Sev tensed, and Frodo backed away just a little as Gollum advanced. Frodo fingered the Ring.

"Yes, Master knows. Girl-one cannot know," Gollum said. "Once it grabs on, it never lets go . . ." He reached for the Ring.

The Ring channeled from Frodo's hand to his head to his mouth faster than he could have processed a reaction of his own accord. "Don't touch me," he said harshly, and Gollum recoiled. Gollum blinked as though wounded, then backed away from Frodo to settle in the murk. Frodo swall0wed; that aggressive feeling was starting to weigh hard on him.

Soon Sev had them back up on their feet and moving. Gollum took the lead again, and the marshes soon began spouting fires here and there. Frodo eyed them. They pulled to him . . . somehow. He glanced at them, studied the flickers of how they danced like haunting beacons. Something of them called, begged him to join them.

Suddenly Sev jolted, grabbing Frodo's shoulder. He glanced back at her. "Frodo, look! Dead faces."

"The Dead Marshes," Gollum hissed. "Yes, that is their name. A great battle here, with men and elves and orcses. Hobbits be careful, or they join the faces and have lights of their own."

That last part went in one of Frodo's ears and out the other. He caught it for a moment, but then it drowned in his entranced mind, focused on one of the armored Elves in the marsh. He slowed to a halt, eyeing it curiously.

Then its eyes flashed open.

And he crashed through the water surface.

"Frodo!" Sev cried. Her voice was murky against his ears. Ghosts, twisted and green, reached for him, straining for him to join them. Frodo was terrified, but he could not leave. In a strange way he almost wanted to submit.

"No! Frodo!"

Then a hand clamped on his shoulder and dragged him up out of the water. It was only then that Frodo realized he hadn't been breathing. He did so, and scrambled away from the edge. Then he glanced up, expecting it to have been Sev. It wasn't.

"Gollum?" Frodo asked incredulously.

"Don't follow the lights," Gollum hissed, then looked up at Sev, who was sitting some distance away. She was breathing hard, and shaking uncontrollably. The blood receded from her eyes and fingers, the latter of which convulsed powerfully.

She strained over the ground to Frodo, limping as it were. She could not stand.

"Are you all right?" she gasped, straining to lift him onto his feet.

He nodded, throwing it off. She wobbled, although still kneeling, and he held her up. "What happened?"

"You fell," she said slowly. She sounded not only hesitant, but a little shaken and muddled.

"No," he said, waving it off, "you. You're shaking."

She shook her head vigorously, swaying in place. "Nothing," she insisted. Her eyes rolled, and her head slacked back.

He frowned, grabbing one of her hands as he stood. Why didn't she ever tell him anything? "Sev, what happened?" He gripped her shoulders to hold her up. Her warmth dried him, kept him standing. Neither of them were in any condition to walk alone.

She sighed shakily. "Just . . . pains. Gollum's getting ahead; we'd better catch up to him."

Frodo didn't let his eyes stray from her for the day's duration. The pains were intermittent, he knew, but from her description they really hurt, and were very exhausting. If she was having spells that intense, he didn't want it happening again without him knowing.

The Ring caught his eye that night. He laid it in his palm. He didn't know why he wanted it just then . . . it just looked so beautiful, so bright. It was a precious little thing. And it seemed like it wanted him too. It vibrated against his palm periodically.

Then Gollum's voice pierced the night air, and Frodo threw the Ring back into his shirt.

"So beautiful, so bright . . . my Precious."

"What did you say?" Frodo whispered. The voice reflected his own thoughts in a way he couldn't wish to be possible.

"Master should rest. Master needs to save his strength," Gollum hissed.

Frodo abruptly stood, walking over to stand behind Gollum. "Who are you?"

"Mustn't ask us, not its business." Gollum did not look at him.

"You were one of the River-folk." Frodo knelt down beside him to catch his eye.

Gollum began mumbling, ignoring Frodo. So Frodo circled the creature, trying to get him to look up. "He said yours was a tragic story!"

"They do not care when sun has faded or moon is dead!"

"You weren't much different from a hobbit once, were you? . . . Smeagol."

Gollum glanced up, his eyes wide and shocked. "What did you call me?" he whispered.

"That was your name once. Smeagol," Frodo replied.

"My name," Smeagol chanted reverently. "My name! Smeagol . . ."

A satisfied sigh emerged from Sev, and Frodo glanced up. She was rolled over, curled up in a ball. He settled back on his feet. He wondered if she had heard everything. If she knew he had been watching the Ring—he shook his head. He hoped not; he hadn't meant it.

"Girl-one does not care," Smeagol hissed.

Frodo thought back on Sev's journal . . . the sympathy she expressed for Frodo's pain back when the Fellowship had been whole, and how she had matched it. More than matched it; she expounded, dug into it with the intense passion of a woman who should loathe life itself. "But we don't understand her either, Smeagol." He stood gently, approaching her as he spoke. "She doesn't have someone that understands. She's more alone than we are."

He knelt down next to her. Her breathing intensified. He wondered if the pains were there. Frodo traced her cheek carefully, feeling her forehead, the side of her nose, the back of her cheekbone, with his hand. He didn't want to leave her. She looked so sweet and solemn just then, relaxing beneath his fingers . . . which traced her in such a different way than they did the Ring.

Her eyes shot wide open when a shriek pierced the air. Frodo turned, and all three spotted the creature flying above them. Smeagol screeched and rolled under a bush.

Apparently Sev recognized it. "Nazgul!" she cried. She leaped up and grabbed Frodo's wrist. She ducked for a nearby bush, but another shriek rang through the air, and Frodo groaned, crashing to the ground and clutching the Ring. The blackness and malice of the Ring, of the creatures hunting it, ricocheted throughout him. He had an odd sensation of it fighting Sev when she grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

The shriek sounded again, but this time there was a pressurized tingle on the top, one that pierced Frodo's hearing, blotting out the top of it with static. The Ring shoved against his heart, and he grabbed at it.

"They are calling for it," Smeagol spat. "They are calling for the Precious!"

Sev grabbed his hand from off the Ring and held it to her face. The warmth combated the Ring, and it slowly pulsed away. "It's going to be all right, Frodo," she said gently. "It's all right."

He calmed eventually. Then her hand settled over his heart. It never had before, but suddenly the constant weight of his wound tried to lift.

"I thought they were dead," Sev said as she pulled Frodo from underneath the bush. He managed to stand alone.

"Dead? You cannot kill them!" Smeagol cried. Then he took a step toward Frodo. "Come, Master; the Black Gate is near."

He was right. There was not much marsh left before the mountains were suddenly looming over them, and they climbed a small hill of piled rock. The Black Gate lay in a niche between two monstrous peaks. It was built of sharp, slim, black metal, and spiked up in increments along the wall. It stood at least eighty feet tall, and orcs stood guard on top. There was no way in but through.

"The Black Gate," Sev breathed. "There's no way we'll get in."

Then a battle shout arose from below. Frodo turned and saw a quickly marching line of armed soldiers. A horn was blown on the top of the Black Gate, and suddenly the huge wall of metal began to crank open on one side.

"Frodo, look!" Sev whispered. He looked up. He gathered they could just slip in behind the army going in.

Then Sev leaned over the edge. "I see a way down-," she started, but immediately after she did she shrank back, then rolled down the hill, vanishing beyond Frodo's line of sight.

"Sev!" Frodo cried. Despite Smeagol's protests, he didn't want Sev getting killed. He leaped over the huge stone in front of him, skittering down, leaping from rock to rock, following her. She had gotten all but her head, pretty much, stuck beneath the stones. She turned back and glanced at him, then scrambled to break loose.

"Frodo!" she hissed. He crept down faster. "No, get out of here; get through the gate! I can get out on my own—,"

He shook his head. Sev vigorously reintensified her work, trying to shove stones away. A pair of guards had caught movement and were making their way towards them. Frodo frantically piled rocks away from Sev, but figured that would take too long. He grabbed Sev's arm with both hands and pulled, only to come to little success.

Frodo glanced around for another alternative, but finally knelt down next to Sev, spread his cloak, and wrapped it over both of them. Frodo hoped beyond anything they would be all right.

He could see their feet. He pulled tighter around Sev's head, his face locked against her own. His pulse raced, both from the men outside and the woman within. After a moment, the soldiers turned and were gone. Frodo waited a short second or two before he threw his cloak off of them and helped Sev break the rest of the way free. He grabbed her waist with both hands and pulled her out. They raced to the next large stone, facing the Black Gate.

"I don't force you to come with me, Sev," Frodo said.

"But you would like me to."

Frodo glanced back at her. He didn't know if he wanted her there. She was putting herself at risk. Even if he did wish for her support and presence, it would be painful to watch her die.

"I doubt even these cloaks will hide us in there," she said. That only made him feel worse; he almost wanted to ask her not to do this, not for him and not for the Shire.

He didn't have the heart to refuse her, and he hadn't the willpower either. He did want her. In a way. He counted down, and they leaped simultaneously, only for Smeagol to drag them back.

"Gollum, no!" Sev hissed. "What are you doing?" was Frodo's reaction.

"You can't! Don't take it to him!" Smeagol pleaded. "He wants the Precious, and the Precious wants to go back to him! You can't take it to him!"

Sev leaped up to get Smeagol out of the way, and Frodo sprang towards the gate. But Smeagol pushed Sev back and grabbed Frodo. "But there is no other way," Frodo insisted. The gate was closing; they were running out of time.

"Yes! Yes there is! There is another way into Mordor!" Smeagol protested.

"Why didn't you speak of this before?" Sev asked, exasperated.

"Because Master asked him to bring us to the Black Gate, and so good Smeagol did!"

Frodo was backed up to the rock, and he nodded at Smeagol, somehow keeping his distance. He breathed a troubled sigh of relief; at least he could try to convince Sev to stay out of Mordor at this rate. "Yes, I did. If there is another way into Mordor . . . will you take us?"

Smeagol nodded. "Yes!" Sev growled behind them as the Gate slammed shut. Smeagol pulled Frodo around, dashing up the rocks. "Good Smeagol always helps," he said.

Sev shook her head, her eyes falling from Frodo.

"We have no choice, Sev," Frodo said slowly. He hoped she thought the same.

She nodded submissively. "I know. I don't trust him is all."

"Why not?" Frodo didn't wait for my response before he turned and again ascended the slope, digging his toes into the rocks and climbing that way.


	18. Captain Faramir

Smeagol led them from rocky hills and barren wasteland to a thin, bare forest over the next few days. At one time he began swimming down the river after a fish. Sev called out to him, but immediately brought her words to a halt.

"Why do you do that?" Frodo asked, catching up to her.

She glanced at him. "Fix my mistakes when I make them?"

He shook his head. "Suspect him, pick on him sometimes."

Sev shrugged. "I don't trust him, I told you that." She bit her lip and pondered a moment before continuing. "He is a threat to you, and wants the Ring, Frodo. I can't let that pass."

Frodo looked at the ground. "You don't know what it did to him . . . what it's still doing to him." He felt it rub with an intense friction against his skin, and he walked past her. He didn't feel like expressing right then.

"Or what it's doing to you," she said, almost accusatory. He halted. "I've seen you. You've stopped eating, and you used to love sleep, and now it's gone. Frodo, that's not a good sign. I've been there."

He turned to gaze at her. It was his fight. If she tried to join, she would burn, or fall to the Ring's psychological power. Frodo stared deliberately at the ground, only to feel her gentle fingers beneath his jaw. She tipped his face up, and he looked at her. She studied him carefully.

"I have my reasons not to trust him. You have your reasons to be kind. I understand, I promise." Then she paused. "Although . . . why let him get to you? You have to be on your guard, Frodo."

Frodo paused. Maybe he wouldn't lose her. Maybe he would be lost. Either way he would not have her in the end. "I have to believe he can come back," he said, turning away.

Sev didn't speak for a moment, but followed him. "And if he doesn't? If he does attempt to kill you?"

The words were more terrifying to Frodo than they could have appeared. What if Gollum killed Sev? She was only ever on her guard for Frodo, who couldn't even trust her to look after herself. Frustration at the Ring, confusion from Smeagol, fear of Sev's obstinacy, bubbled and boiled inside him, whirled in all these thoughts in a matter of seconds. Frodo tore back sharply. "But what do you know about it? Nothing!"

Sev did not reply. Her eyes did not well, although her expression said she was trying her hardest not to say or do something she would regret. She bit her lip shut and walked slowly past him.

"I'm sorry, Sev," Frodo said finally, dejected. "I don't know why I said that." She had survived this long, right? She could go another while longer, and she would protect him.

"Well, I do," Sev said, turning around. "It's the Ring, Frodo; it's killing you, drive it out!"

"There's nothing I can do about it, Sev," Frodo shot back. That aggression bubbled in him again, rising from the Ring to the surface. "The Ring is my burden, mine, my own!" He spun and briskly stalked after Smeagol.

"Don't you hear yourself, Frodo?" she called after him. She sounded hurt. "Don't you know what you sound like?"

Frodo paused and turned . . . but did not go back. He was having to bite back fears and emotions of his own. He glanced back at the bruise lining her neck. Thought about the journal resting against his heart. Remembered how she had said she loved him and wanted to keep him safe.

What if this was his task, and she needed to be safe? He knew the answer, and wondered if he ought to bring it up to her.

Frodo rested that night after pouring over the Ring. They couldn't have it. He had it. Logically speaking, it would burn Sev, and it had already ruined Smeagol. He tightened his grip on it, falling asleep almost tense there.

He dreamed very simply but very lengthily that night. The world became a black void. He was holding the light of Earendil. It reflected on a series of black, livid eyes, staring back at him.

 _Sev._

Where was Sev?

His eyes shot open. He heard Smeagol muttering to himself, and he felt for the Ring. He stroked it again once he found it, trying to coax him back into the dark void he had just come from.

He figured he must have been dreaming again, because he heard Sev growling. After hiding the Ring he sat upright, and he glanced around, trying to find her. He knew he was awake, and now she was gone. Sev had vanished.

"Sev?" he asked. He heard a rustle, and knew she was nearby. At least she was safe. He swallowed, feeling the Ring over his heart. "I'm so sorry, Sev," he muttered. He could hear her sniffling. He laid back down. Maybe she would come out.

*The night grew numbingly cold. He shivered, and his feet protested against the chilled air. He tried to relax, breathing as deeply as he could manage. His breaths were shaky; he was trembling. Only semi-conscious, he heard Sev slip out of her hiding place. Then warm chills spread up from his toes and into his back when she laid her cloak over his feet, and he relaxed just a bit. Warmth flooded him when Sev wrapped her arms around him, laying his head beneath hers. Her fingers graced his cheek, gentle and careful. He fell asleep there. It was an intense fight of will against reaction not to kiss her, not to hold her face in his hands, not to lay her ear, her forehead, against his heart. Not to move. Not to tell her he loved her.~

He didn't know when she had set him down. All he knew was that morning came all so quickly, and he was still completely exhausted. After they had been walking for some hours, Smeagol rushed up to him in a fit of excitement, begging Master to let him go look for some food. Frodo absentmindedly agreed, and he slumped against the ground, limbs and all muscles failing. Sev grabbed him around the waist and laid him up against some rocks to rest. He breathed thanks, but he had no doubt she couldn't hear them.

"Sev," he muttered. In response, she sat down beside him. The warmth numbed his pain. "Where were you last night?"

Sev laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, ruffling his hair. He relaxed with the contact. "Just up in the tree. Watching out, you know."

Frodo's brow furrowed. "You mean for Smeagol?"

He turned to Sev; he could see her through his mental murk, and she shook her head. "He's fine; I think I trust him." He didn't entirely believe her, but she did not lie, only sometimes concealed part of the truth. Here she sounded perfectly frank.

Just then a thud slapped against Frodo's lap, and his eyes shot wide open as he scrambled back. Smeagol had dropped a pair of conies in his lap. He blinked the soreness from his eyes.

"Look what Smeagol finds!" Smeagol cried. Frodo felt somewhat relieved, until Smeagol grabbed one of the poor rabbits, cracked its spine, and began digging in. Frodo could not but stare at the carnage, confused and mortified beyond movement.

Sev grabbed the extra rabbit and pulled Frodo away from Smeagol, setting him down next to a bush. He settled into it as she started a fire. He glanced away while she skinned and cooked the animal, resorting to using the lembas leaves by the coals of the fire.

Smeagol screeched madly when he saw what Sev had done, and she spoke with as much patience as Frodo could have expected. She did not like Smeagol, and he was being rather argumentative. Frodo waited for her to explode; he'd never seen her do it. But she didn't. Instead she neatly and sharply replied to Smeagol, then tossed a piece of meat to Frodo. It wasn't bad, as meat goes. Not seasoned, but Sev didn't seem to love the concept of seasoning as of this journey. And she didn't have any; he had the pack.

Didn't he?

He noticed it on her back, and he frowned to himself.

Then he heard a rustling nearby, and stamping feet. Loud feet. He and Sev both perked up, then pursued after the sound. Smeagol followed them somewhat hesitantly. They peered over a grassy ridge at foot soldiers and cavalry, an eternal line of tall, strong men, all walking towards Mordor. He was gathering his armies, Smeagol said.

"Oliphaunts, Frodo!" Sev whispered. A troop of the great beasts lumbered into view, bearing weapons and men on their backs.

He just watched, afraid to move. Sauron had resources . . . and one of them was hanging around his neck, ready to strike. It was smarter, more malicious, than any of those men down there.

Sev put a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at it.

"Frodo," she said. He gave her a questioning stare, and she continued. "I know I can't fix everything," she said gently, "but I can sure as Gondor try."

Frodo almost smiled, prepared to reply, but just then the hiss of arrows and the screams of men erupted beyond them. He and Sev turned to watch as the entire army fell to an ambush of cloaked warriors. Smeagol scrambled away, and Sev stood.

"Frodo, we've stayed too long," she said urgently. Frodo backed away from the edge as a saddle full of soldiers crashed into the ground, and every member was caught by the arrow fire.

"Frodo, come on!" Sev cried, but she smacked right into a man, halting her in her tracks. She scrambled away, but was grabbed by the wrists. Frodo stood and rushed him, but another man flew out of the brush and attacked him, folding his arms behind his back.

"Leave him alone!" Sev snapped, slamming her foot down on the other man's toe. He released her, and she leaped for Frodo, but was thrown and pulled back by another archer.

She struggled. "Let him go!" she cried.

"Spies of Mordor?" the leader asked abruptly.

"We are innocent travelers," Frodo said urgently. "Our business is our own. Any who claim to oppose the enemy would do well not to hinder us."

The leader walked closer to Sev. Frodo struggled wildly: _Don't hurt her. Please don't hurt her_.

When Frodo got the chance to study him, he noticed that the archer head had lengthy, red-blond hair and a scraggly beard to match. He wore the white tree of Gondor across his chest. Sev recoiled when the archer approached her, and Frodo struggled. The archer at his back snapped him into place.

The man eyed Frodo and Sev carefully, then strode over to one of the fallen warriors. "He claimed to oppose the enemy as well. Do you want to know where he is from . . . why he would have turned?"

The leader was named Faramir, or so he said in response to Frodo's question. Despite more that Frodo attempted to say, Faramir turned to his warriors. "Bind their hands."

Sev yelled Frodo's name, but he could not respond before a cloth sealed his entire face off. He could not struggle anymore. At least they seemed at a need to interrogate; he worried only for the future, not for what they would do to her until then.


	19. Her Kiss Against the Ring

They were led, staggering, over the rocky ground. Frodo could feel the Ring's call growing more desperate; they were headed away from Mordor. Sev made a point of not going where they wished her to, stepping periodically on her captor's foot. Frodo snickered to himself; he noted never to try and apprehend her.

Then again, if they ever made it to Mordor, he would have to make sure no one else did either.

The blindfolds were not removed until Frodo and Sev had been centered in a cool cavern. Men walked about them, and in the cold Frodo leaned towards Sev. He glanced at her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "You?"

He nodded in kind.

"If you are not spies," Faramir said, "then who are you?"

"We are hobbits of the Shire." As if that weren't obvious . . . "Frodo Baggins is my name, and this is Seville."

Faramir cocked an eyebrow. "Your guardian?"

They spoke at the same time.

"More like lawn gnome," Sev said. She sounded bitter, but more bitter with Faramir. Frodo might have laughed if he were paying attention.

"My closest companion," Frodo clarified. Sev eyed him; she turned faint purple. He let an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her close to him. He was glad to have her there, if nothing else.

Faramir blinked, hopefully just a little surprised. "And where is the lowly one you were traveling with? The one with the sunken eyes?"

No one initially cared for Smeagol. Frodo feared they would find him and kill him. "There was no other," he said. He felt Sev's eyes glaring daggers at him; she disapproved wholeheartedly of blatant dishonesty, but Frodo felt he had to do it. He moved on, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. "We set out from Rivendell with 8 companions," he said. Sev relaxed beneath his arm. "Three were my kin. One we lost in Moria. An elf there was, and a dwarf also. We also journeyed with two men: Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Boromir of Gondor."

Faramir inhaled slowly. "You are a friend of Boromir's?"

Sev teetered, probably being sarcastic. She never had despised Boromir, from what she had told Frodo, just disapproved of his motives. "For my part," Frodo responded.

"More we tried than anything," Sev interjected, and Frodo shook his head. The dear girl seemed to have no need to not offend Faramir, or cause him to do something rash.

But Faramir did not seem angry. He lifted an eyebrow, somewhat sorrowful. "Then it would trouble you to know that he is dead."

Frodo staggered, but Sev looked knowing, if not subjected. She glanced at the ground. Her body temperature dropped significantly, and her pulse slowed beneath Frodo's fingers as he pulled her tighter. "Dead?" he managed. "How?"

Faramir inhaled again. "As his friends, I had hoped you would tell me."

"If anything has happened to Boromir, we would have you tell us!" Frodo insisted. Sev's face had collapsed into a numb drift; she would say nothing, probably absorb everything she heard.

Faramir responded gravely. "His horn washed up on the riverbank, cloven in two. That, and I know it in my heart . . . for he was my brother."

*Frodo's face fell. Sev leaned into him, finally exhausted and broken. He didn't know that he'd ever seen her like this. He wrapped his other arm around her; she responded by burying her face in his shoulder. Tears beaded against his cloak, and he laid his head on hers, trying to comfort her. Faramir eyed them. He instructed his warriors to direct them out.

As they walked, Sev pulled away from Frodo, eyeing the guard guiltily. Frodo left her until the guard was gone. Then she fell into Frodo's arms, fingers gripping his cloak. She was shaking, and tears poured from her eyes. She would not look up.

"Frodo . . . Boromir . . .!" Her voice came out little more than a strained cry.

Frodo pulled her to him, laying his head on her shoulder. She trembled in his arms.

"Sev," he said, rubbing her back, "it is a sorrowful passing." He didn't know what more to say, but at least it seemed to help. He was mournful as well, although not hit as hard as she had evidently been. "But you told me we could do naught for the fallen."

Sev buried her face in his chest—her head shook over and over again. "What could have become of the others?"

Frodo stroked her hair. "You told me we would see them again," he said. He believed that now. "And we may yet."

She looked chagrined as she backed away from him, thanking him, but unsure about whether or not she would be willing to take more sympathy. She'd always had an issue with that, and Frodo felt it an unnecessary disapproval: of course Sev needed sympathy. She gave away far too much. But as she backed away, her lips looked so stark against her pale face, and she looked like she needed it.

Frodo's face heated as he leaned in to her. He gently turned her head with his finger and—after his pulse thudded with increasing speed—he brushed his lips to hers for the slightest of moments. Although it was very simple, very small, it chilled and warmed him. He hoped it had done the same for her; she would certainly feel consoled if it had.~

She turned deep purple, but her expression remained rather blank . . . despite a glimmer across her eyes. Frodo turned, biting his lower lip. He had indeed kissed her, and it felt right. Even the Ring was combated by her kiss, and he hadn't felt that good in a long time.

He wondered when he could muster the courage to do it again. He glanced at her; she rested peacefully against the rock, curled in a ball. He swallowed, surveying her face, halting on her closed eyes. They flickered slightly open, glancing about.

No. He couldn't do it again, not for a long time.

After a short while he decided to sit next to her. She looked so alone. When he did, she rolled up against him. He draped his cloak over her, but she just piled it against his side and rested her head on it. Sev gave him her cloak then, blanketing him with it. She didn't need one, she said. She felt fine just where she was, even though he was sure the rock couldn't be comfortable. She pulled her legs up to her, condensed by his side. He laid his arm over one of her shoulders, and she quickly fell asleep on the rocky ground. Although Frodo was sitting up and probably in a less comfortable position than Sev, the warmth of her head blanketed by his cloak against his ribcage settled him in some way.

He awakened to Faramir's voice. Sev sat up as well.

"Frodo, you must come with me," he said.

Frodo stood, offering Sev his hand. She accepted it, and he brought her to her feet, but Faramir held up a hand.

"Only Frodo."

"Sev comes with me," Frodo said. He didn't want to face anything Faramir had to show or tell him alone. Sev beamed just a little bit, as much as one could in such circumstances.

"Very well," Faramir said, relenting. "But I gathered a woman would not want to see this."

At his statement Sev's eyes grew wide, and she slinked along the wall, quietly asking Faramir what was going on.

He led them through the stony caverns to an outcropping, overlooking a cold, flowing waterfall. He pointed, and Frodo's gaze followed . . . down to where Smeagol had just dove into the small reservoir of water at the end of the waterfall.

"The price for entering the Forbidden Pool," Faramir said somewhat triumphantly, "is death. My men await my command." Frodo glanced around, spotting archers with their arrows pulled back to full draw. They were aimed at Smeagol, who resurfaced with a fish. He began smacking it on the rocks.

"Shall I shoot?"

Frodo's eyes flicked from Smeagol to the archers to Sev. Even she looked pitying, afraid, sorrowful. Her eyebrows bent in concern. He was asking her, but she couldn't reply.

Faramir lifted his hand to salute.

"Don't!" Sev cried.

Faramir paused. He'd hit the mark, and he knew it.

"This creature is bound to me," Frodo said, glancing down at Smeagol. He swallowed. The Ring had turned him into "this creature," a being so shriveled and beastly that a man would shoot him like any animal.

Faramir nodded at Smeagol, and Frodo, along with Sev, mounted down the rocks. Frodo beckoned to Smeagol, warning him. He told him he was trying to save him. "Trust Master," he said. Smeagol obeyed relatively easily, but glanced around in suspicion.

"Come, Smeagol! Come to Master!" Frodo insisted.

A twig snapped nearby, and Smeagol's head shot up. Then the men attacked him, and his screams filled the air.

"No!" Sev's sword hissed out of her scabbard, and she lunged at the men. She was yanked away, and Frodo initially didn't know who to reach for. Smeagol would be hurt, but if Sev fought too hard, she would be as well.

Then a soldier grabbed him, and he clicked out of it. "Don't hurt them!" Frodo cried. The soldiers paid him no heed; they dragged Frodo and Sev back into the blackness, and Smeagol's screeches vanished with him.

Frodo couldn't rest. Sev didn't seem to want to either. In fact, she just rolled away from him, ducking beneath the stone. She looked ashamed, guilty, frightened. He didn't understand. She hadn't done anything . . . had she?

After ten minutes, it was obvious she hadn't. No confessions. There was nothing more than what he'd seen, even if he didn't understand. But he wanted her by his side; the ache of Smeagol's loss was pulling at him, at his conscience and at what the future would bring. He curled up in a corner, watching Sev. Finally she descended from her state of guilt to pull up next to him. She held him to her, arms around his shoulders.

"Frodo, you can get out of here," she said urgently. He lifted an eyebrow. He wasn't about to leave her. "I know you don't have a guide, but Smeagol . . ." He waited for her to say "isn't coming back", or something of that sort, but she left it alone. She shook her head. "Go to Mordor. Turn invisible and escape! You can go!" Her cheek settled against his own. He swallowed; he didn't want to leave her, particularly not as she did something like that so close. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Just this once. Just this once."

Frodo shook his head, and Sev backed away, crouching before him.

"Frodo, I'm begging you, get out of this place before something worse happens!" She sounded urgent.

And he felt as though he had to stay.

"You were right, Sev," he said. Perhaps knowing the truth would scare her into not insisting. "The Ring has taken me. If I put it on . . . he will see me. He will take me. I'm sorry." He glanced up, meeting her eyes. "And I won't leave you. You never left me."

Sev's eyes glimmered, pricking with tears. She scooted up near him, rubbed his shoulder. Then she laid her hand against his face.

"Because I don't want to lose you."

He heard "I love you."

Sev stiffened and froze; Frodo could hear steps, and she probably could as well. She scrambled to her feet, and so did he. Faramir abruptly strode in, eyeing Frodo smugly.

"So," he said, breathing hard and trying to stay calm. Frodo watched him carefully, and so did Sev. "This is the answer to all the riddles." He walked toward Frodo while his blade hissed out of its scabbard, and Sev growled. Faramir glared at her. "I have two halflings in the wild . . . a host of men at my beck and call . . ." He lifted the blade tip to Frodo's chest, and dragged the Ring up on it. ". . . and the Ring of Power within my grasp." Frodo began to breathe hard. The cold steel against his skin stirred adrenaline, a need to run . . . and a dark force, insisting, demanding that he fight. Sev's sword met Faramir's with a slight hiss.

The blackness consumed Frodo, biting at him. _Faramir wants the Ring. He wants it. He cannot have it, Frodo. You cannot let him have it._

Frodo launched away from Faramir. "No!" he snapped. The Ring commanded him to fall away, and he collapsed blindly. Sev caught him; her sword clattered to the floor.

"Don't you get it?!" Sev demanded. Frodo convulsed in her arms, pawing at the Ring. It hurt so much . . . at least it was away from Faramir. "Leave him alone! He's going to destroy the Ring!" Frodo's hearing faded in and out. "It's hurting him." She rubbed his back. He collapsed again, this time much harder. He brought them both down to their knees, resting his forehead against her shoulder. He couldn't get enough air.

"Let him go," Sev begged.

Voices fizzled in his head. He laid his hands on Sev's shoulders, holding her for support. He could not stand, he couldn't sit . . . the pain overwhelmed him. He shook under its weight. "Sev . . . Sev . . ." Her name tumbled from his mouth. Reality spun in a dizzying storm.


	20. Osgiliath - Seville the Brilliant

The next thing he knew, the warmth was wrenched away and he was being marched away from the caves, towards Osgiliath. Sev protested, raved against them. She was passed from soldier to soldier, finally grabbed by the head and hands, forced to bend over as she walked. A livid gleam filled her eyes as she glared daggers at Faramir. Then she turned to Frodo. At his expression her eyes softened, and she settled, submitting to what the men would have her do. Finally they took the bindings from her hands.

Once Frodo could see Osgiliath, he turned back to Faramir. "The Ring will not save Gondor," he said. "It only has the power to destroy. Please," he said, turning to Faramir. His eyes pricked, ready to flood over. "You have to let us go."

Faramir did not respond to him in more way than ordering his own soldiers to continue.

Sev's expression fell.

"Faramir!" Frodo shouted, struggling in vain. "You have to let me go!"

Osgiliath was in ruins. Orcs battling men dominated the scene. Faramir handed Frodo and Sev off to some other soldiers, already stationed there. He said to hand them over to his father, but that was about where Frodo lost it in the Ring's binding force.

He heard Sev . . . although the words would not form in his head.

He felt the blade pierce his shoulder. But he could not move. He did not struggle against it. The Ring caused that feeling all throughout his body. The Witch-King . . . the leader of the Ringwraiths . . . he was calling to the Ring.

Sev's voice pierced him, cut through the blackness. He could not return to the light. The Ring was too strong.

"Frodo! Frodo, what's wrong?!"

"They are here." His voice was not his own. All he could see was the dragon . . . the rider . . . the Ring . . . the blade . . . his own dark expression from alien eyes. "They can see it."

Frodo jolted out of the blackness when his body was slammed against the wall by Faramir.

"Stay out of sight," the warrior hissed.

Right up close to Sev, Frodo felt the darkness receding. But the wraith was nearing. He ducked deeper to Sev. She laid her hands on his shoulders, and the Ring vibrated madly, trying to grab her and the wraith, trying to decide which it wanted. Frodo glanced at her.

"Sev, they know," he said. "They can see it. It is calling to him." Sev pulled his head to her, rubbing through his hair.

The shriek called him. He wrenched away from her, slipping into the crowd of orcs. Stairs. There were stairs. Had to get the stairs. He mounted them with his hands and feet; he couldn't go up them fast enough.

"Frodo! Frodo, come back!"

Her voice was lost in the Ring's blackness. Frodo slowed as he approached the wraith. Its dragon headed up the stone wall, and the armored fingers stretched for the Ring. Frodo held it up . . . the burden would be gone, and not only the burden of the Ring, but the burden of life itself.

"Frodo, no!" Sev's warm arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, and the Ring receded. The wraith screeched with rage as Frodo and Sev rolled back down the stairs he had strained to mount. She pinned him to the ground, but Frodo was stronger. Furiosity grabbed him; the Witch-King, Sauron, the Ring . . . they screamed at Sev. Their hands combined in that of the little hobbit Frodo Baggins, and he drew his sword, throwing her to the stone. They would kill her; they would end this madness.

"Frodo, it's Sev."

Frodo? What Frodo? Sev was dangerous. Sev wanted the Ring. Sev was going to destroy them if they didn't kill her . . . _now!_

They tried to plunge the sword. It wouldn't move. Tears were streaking down her face. Why couldn't they do it?

"Don't you know your Sev?"

Sting relaxed. Sauron vanished. The Witch-King released. The Ring settled. Sev's lips pressed against Frodo's forehead, her hand held his cheek. His eyes widened. He had almost killed her. His sword crashed against the ground, and he fell away from her.

"I'm so sorry," he gasped. He was half apologizing to himself . . . if he had killed her, he never could have forgiven himself. And he knew that was possible, here. Her blood would have drained, and her death would have been slow, painful, until she could do no more. "I can't do this, Sev."

Sev strained to her knees, crouch-walking to him. She pulled him once again into her arms, as she had always done. "I know it's hard, Frodo." She sniffled. "By rights we shouldn't even be here . . . and yet we are." She paused for a moment, collecting her breath. "It's like one of those stories you have at home, where everything is dark and hard. Sometimes you don't want to read the end, because how could it be happy? After everything that had changed and gone wrong, how could it turn right? You know, in those books, the ones that really mattered, the hero survived because he was holding on to something."

Frodo shook his head against her. "What are we holding on to, Sev?"

She held him harder.

"That there's some good in this world, Frodo," she said, "and it's worth fighting for!"

Frodo leaned back up to look at her. She fingered his face, biting back tears. "Oh, Sev," he said, laying down again.

She brought Frodo to his feet and looped his arm through hers to keep him standing. Faramir approached then, kneeling down to Frodo's level.

"I think we understand one another, Frodo Baggins," Faramir said. "Release them," he added, turning to his soldiers. One of them refused, saying the consequences for Faramir would be too great, that his life would be forfeit.

"Then my life is forfeit," Faramir said.

He led them, along with Smeagol, to the old sewer system. "Here you can escape without being seen, and hide in the forest on the other side."

Frodo nodded to him.

"What is your road?"

"Smeagol tells me there is a road above Minas Mordun," Frodo said, "through the mountains. That is the path we will take."

Faramir frowned. "Cirith Ungol." Then he grabbed Smeagol's neck and shoved him up against the stone. "Is that its name?"

Smeagol denied at first, until Faramir twisted. Then, strangled, he shouted, "Yes!"

Faramir whipped to look at Frodo. "They say there is a dark terror that dwells in the cave above Cirith Ungol," he said. "You cannot go that way." A growl rose in Sev's throat, and Frodo just glanced at her. He pondered for a moment and realized that, in a position of loving someone and wanting to keep them out of danger, that she doubtlessly did not approve of Cirith Ungol following Faramir's report.

"Master says to show him the way into Mordor!" Smeagol cried. "And that is the only way!"

Frodo gestured to Smeagol. "We must," he said.

Faramir threw Smeagol against the wall. "If you will."

"Captain Faramir," Sev said, "you have shown your quality, and it is great. We thank you."

Faramir nodded. "The Shire must be a place of greatness, ma'am." Frodo grinned to himself. Sev, at least, if not the whole Shire. He then wished Frodo the grace and goodwill of all men. Frodo thanked him, and then they walked on.

Smeagol was limping. Sev stopped and asked him if he knew Frodo hadn't been responsible for his capture. Frodo feigned not to be listening, but regardless Smeagol said all was forgiven.

"That's rather decent of you," Sev said cautiously. Frodo felt a sickening twist overcome his stomach; if Smeagol didn't forgive him, they were both done for, and so was the entire quest.

Smeagol led them through the sewers into a dead forest, near the base of the Ash Mountains of Mordor.

Mostly the journey was silent, but Sev was bursting with the need to say something she felt was profound, or so Frodo could pick up. She claimed she never said anything profound. He didn't believe that.

"I wonder if we'll ever be put into songs or books," she said finally.

Admittedly Frodo wasn't expecting that. He turned back to her. "What?"

*"Well, you know, I wonder if they'll ever say something like: 'Let's hear about Frodo and the Ring!'" Her voice altered as she switched impressions of future generations in the Shire. "'Oh, yes, that's one of my favorite stories.'" Then her voice softened, sincerity tainting it. "'Frodo was real courageous, wasn't he, da?' 'Oh, yes, my boy, the most famousest of hobbits! Which is saying a lot; they don't do anything but eat all day.'"

Frodo laughed, both from the satirical humor in her distaste for hobbit habits . . . and to distract him from the way her voice changed when she praised him, even if it was supposedly from the perspective of another. She grinned at him.

Then Frodo had a thought. "You've left out one of the chief characters," Frodo said, and Sev looked a little confused. He knew she would never have considered it. He stood up straight. "Seville the Brilliant!" he proclaimed. "I want to hear more about Sev!" Then he paused. He knew what they would say about her, what he would say about her. But all that came out was: "Frodo couldn't have gone anywhere without Sev."

Sev stopped too. Her face turned violet. "You can't tease, Frodo." She sounded perfectly practical . . . and perfectly flattered, if not surprised. "I was being serious."

Frodo's shoulders slumped. He couldn't stand it. He thought about kissing her again, but instead laid a hand on her neck and kissed her forehead, like he'd always done before sending her out to the lawn. "So was I."~

He turned and continued walking. He sighed to himself. He couldn't get her stunned expression out of his head . . . or the faint brush of her lips against his out of his thoughts. Soon he heard behind him: "Sev the Brilliant." He chuckled. Of course she would make it jocose.

Smeagol disappeared for a minute, and they called out for him. Finally he appeared from behind a tree, insisting that they not dawdle. They had some distance before they would be through the pass.

Sev caught up to Frodo, and after glancing at him hesitantly—he lifted his arm—her shoulders slid into place beside him. She let an arm around his waist. Things were looking up. It wasn't over yet, but the journey was all right for now.


	21. Rest in Cirith Ungol

Frodo found himself, after they had been wandering the woods and Gondor ruins for a short while, stroking the Ring again. He glanced up to make sure Smeagol and Sev were both not watching . . . and he produced it, fingering it gently. He was glad the quest wasn't entirely over. It called to him. It had almost become a part of him, in a way.

Then Smeagol's head came down from the upper half of the cave they were hiding in, and Frodo hid the Ring. Sev jolted as he said, "Hurry, hobbitses! We are close to Mordor." Then he vanished, probably racing ahead.

Sev glowered at Frodo. "Frodo, you haven't slept at all," she said, accusatory.

Frodo blinked at her. "And you would know because . . .?"

"Because I don't need sleep," she said. Her eyes flickered to the Ring, and Frodo felt a pang of guilt, as well as a sensitive guarding that he tried to dismiss. "Don't forget that. I'm always keeping an eye on you." He felt she was more talking to the Ring than to him, but he made a mental note regardless.

She pulled some lembas from the pack. She had stolen the burden yet again. "Here. You haven't eaten either." She tossed him a square, and he nibbled at it carefully.

Smeagol insisted, in quite the whining tone, that they hurry. "Not until Frodo's eaten," Sev shot back. She glanced at Frodo. "What about you?" he asked. She actually liked lembas, even if she didn't need it.

She shook her head. "Don't need it, and we're running out. So eat that; I've rationed it. There should be enough."

Frodo paused. "For what?"

"For the journey home."

Home.

Home. They would go home.

Theoretically.

What if they didn't?

He didn't want to go home, not without Sev. Maybe he wouldn't have to.

Sev got up close to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. He settled into it. He was holding the lembas with both hands, and didn't touch her.

"We're going home," she said firmly. "We're close to Mordor, and we've made it this far. I promised you that you would get home safely, and so you shall."

She patted his shoulder and turned, but he had just finished eating. He had free hands. He laid one on top of hers.

"I need help, Sev." His worries were drowning him, and the Ring wasn't helping.

Sev's eyes grew knowing, and she held him. He laid into it. He just needed to settle for a second, with Sev nearby to combat the Ring. She rubbed his head, and his eyes rolled closed. "I know, Frodo," she said. "And I will always be here for you."

Smeagol came back to remind them that they needed to hurry. Sev gathered the supplies and pulled Frodo to his feet.

"Come, hobbitses," Smeagol spat hungrily. "We are very close to Mordor. No place is safe here."

"Of course not," Sev said proudly. "Otherwise I'd be perfectly useless."

Frodo stifled a laugh at that, but then he recognized the point behind it. Unfortunately, for Frodo, that statement was one of wistfulness, in a way. If she felt useless (although Frodo didn't know how she could be), maybe she wouldn't have come, wouldn't have put her life on the line for him.

She bit her lower lip, then her upper lip, transitioning between the two. She sped on ahead, getting ahead of Smeagol, who dragged her in the right direction. She shook her head and followed, glancing briefly back at Frodo.

What had that been meant to say?

If the cavern they had stayed in for the night hadn't been enough proof that this was once part of the land of Gondor, now they had more. A statue, rigid with its hands upon its knees, stood erected in the middle of the woods, faded and worn with ivy strands growing up the sides. Frodo glanced up at the head; it had been crushed by a heavy rock wrapped in iron.

The sun glared through the trees, illuminating the head. Sev pointed to it—it had flowers wrapped around it.

"Look, Frodo." She started out sounding unsure of whether she wanted to be jocose or hopeful. "He looks just like Aragorn in 30 years."

Frodo laughed; he could see somewhat of a resemblance, he thought. The beard was there, the crown, the stony expression. "Crown of flowers especially," he remarked.

"The King has a crown again," she said, as though quoting something. "Even if it is a Rosie Cotton crown against Aragorn's face." Frodo laughed again, and Sev caught up to him. She looked overly happy, and she kissed his cheek very deeply. It shocked the Ring out of him, and felt rather good. At this latter revelation he turned bright red. She laughed maniacally, and his face grew, if at all possible, more warm. Sev backed away; she was a deep purple.

Soon the forest grew into somewhat of a hall of trees, banking against them on either side as they ascended the mountain. Sev sniffed the air, calculating, staring at the sun's relative position.

"Probably having tea in decent places," she mused. Then she snickered to herself; Frodo cocked his head, wondering why. He opened his mouth to respond, but Smeagol cut him off with a sadistic pause.

"We aren't in decent places." Then he turned casually and continued on.

Frodo stopped. They hadn't been in decent places for months. Dangers had been around every corner. He had every right to be afraid for Sev. And he had every right to be afraid of what was to come; he didn't know if they would make it back.

She probably, at least, would. But Sauron, the orcs, the Ringwraiths . . . one of them would get him if the others couldn't. He hoped she lived. But he didn't feel that he would.

His tracks slowed as the sickening feeling made its grinding way through his stomach, to his heart, and back. Sev turned.

"What is it?"

Frodo stared into the distance. The sun. Even if he did make it back . . . "Just a thought," he said. Sev walked towards him, and he glanced up at her. "I don't think I'll be coming back, Sev, and not because of anything you could or couldn't do."

Sev's expression softened. She bit her lip and grabbed him, as though she could keep him from dying like that. And she probably could, but getting her impaled with an arrow was not Frodo's ideal manner of survival. She leaned with him against the rock; he didn't want her to leave.

"Oh, Frodo," she said. She laid her head on his shoulder, rubbing his back. "You'll make it. I promise, I'll have you home if it kills me." He had been relaxing up to that point, but then he realized she really would take an arrow for him . . . and that irked something deep down, that need to protect her. If his gut was right, though, and she made it without him, he would have done all that was necessary. She would be alive.

Finally, though, he realized he might as well have her while he did. He settled in her arms, bringing her into his own as well.

Soon, though, he heard Smeagol hissing impatiently.

"It's time, Sev," he said, although he was reluctant to back away. As they walked, she laid an arm around his shoulders.

"I promise," she said, and kissed his cheek. The warmth fluttered through him. He thought about that moment when their lips had met, how for a moment he had truly expressed something to her that he couldn't in words. He hadn't done as much as he possibly could . . . it would take years of kisses of varying kinds to say what he felt in the slightest frame of moment.

It had been a gentle, sweet experience for him. And she loved him too; perhaps it felt the same to her.

He rested easily that night. He felt somewhat more confident, and having Sev near had kept the Ring back. He did not touch it.

He felt he had not drifted up for long when Smeagol's hissing and spitting entered his dreams. He sounded . . . different. He sounded malicious and angry, spiteful, vengeful. He said something about bones. Hobbit flesh.

Frodo shivered within his cloak, pulling it tighter around him. Images of Smeagol's eyes, back when he had been Gollum, flew through his mind. He could feel a strange pierce in his shoulder, some sticky rope surrounding his whole body as he was thrown over and over in the air . . .

He woke up to the snap of bone. Smeagol howled, and Frodo heard a splash of water. When he sat up and his wits collected themselves, he saw Smeagol and Sev grappling on the ground. Sev was on top, straining to back away without letting him go.

"Sev!" Frodo leaped forward, grabbing her shoulders. Whatever the catalyst had been for this, it couldn't have been good. "Sev, no!"

Sev spun, her eyes flamed with fear. Her face was dark gray. "He's going to kill us!" she cried.

 _He was just defending himself_ , Frodo thought, although he couldn't imagine why Sev would attack first. Unless, of course, she had a nightmare or something about Gollum choking her, which wasn't unlikely. Did she dream, though?

"I'm not sending him away," Frodo insisted. "Without a guide we're lost!"

"I know that," Sev responded, "but I won't watch you die because I didn't do something I could have."

Frodo hesitated. He wasn't sure she was being logical.

"You don't believe me," she breathed. She backed away, allowing him passage to Smeagol. The creature's eyes were wide, and he was heaving.

"Smeagol has done nothing to betray my trust, Sev," Frodo said. "Even after he was captured."

"Why does she hates poor Smeagol?!" the creature wailed. She shot him a look. One eyebrow was arched. "Always making up lies, trying to get rid of Smeagol!"

Sev's head bowed. Frodo didn't know what to think.

He laid his hand on her shoulder. It was so small and fragile, fit entirely in his palm, and he rubbed very carefully. "Sev . . . I need you on my side."

"I am, I promise," she said, her conviction stone-hard. "But I need you to promise me that, if Gollum does prove disloyalty to you, that we'll find our own way to Mordor."

Frodo nodded slowly. That was good enough. He didn't know what else to say, what else he could say. At least Sev wouldn't leave even if he asked her to. He backed away, then held out his hand for Smeagol to take. The fingers that joined his were cold and bony; Frodo remembered then that Sev wasn't the only person he knew.

He missed that warmth, that gentleness. But her erect posture and dark expression kept him from saying or doing anything.

Within three quiet, eerie days of travel, they departed the woods and came on the base of the Ash Mountains, black stones that were illuminated by something green. They approached, and soon could see, a city of iron. It glowed green and hissed with an eerie menace.

"Minas Morgul," Smeagol explained darkly, "The Dead City. Very nasty place. Full of . . . enemies." At the mere sight of the city, Frodo's heart grew icy, and the Ring seethed against his skin, calling to the city. Something was in there.

Smeagol turned and led them up over a small ridge. Sev mounted it, and for the first time since the incident with Smeagol, she gave Frodo a hand up. She did not let go, either; his heart beat hard against her hand, and she squeezed it. Frodo relaxed only a little.

Smeagol's voice pulled him out of it, as much as Smeagol could. "Here it is!" Frodo glanced up. "The stairs . . . the way into Mordor."

Frodo tried to walk forward, and yet he could not take his eyes off the city. The gargoyles that guarded the entryway taunted him. _You cannot carry this burden_. They cackled. _The Ring will come to us. It always comes to us._

He didn't really realize he had drifted away from Sev until he had stumbled almost to the gate. He tried to pull against the Ring . . . only to meet heavy resistance. He shoved against it. No, he didn't want to go to Minas Morgul—but the Ring did, and apparently that mattered more, for Frodo could not fight it.

"Frodo!" Sev leaped on him, yanking against the Ring. The two sides clashed, rendering Frodo dizzy.

"Sev . . ." The words barely made their way out of his mouth. "They're calling for it . . ." Sev's arm wrapped solidly around his torso, and she gave a final shove that forced the Ring right out of him. He collided with the ground, actually somewhat surprised she would go so far to throw him down, until he considered the circumstances of almost losing the Ring.

After bringing him to his feet and scrambling away, Sev asked if he was all right. He felt fine save a slight bang to his back, but didn't get the chance to respond. A huge explosion of sound banged across the entire mountainside, and Sev pulled Frodo down behind the ridge of rock. The Dead City collected a huge beam of wind and light, shooting it into the sky. The winds rushed, filling the air with their deafening whirs. The light cracked like thunder when it met the clouds over Mordor.

The Witch-King had landed with his steed on the roof of the Dead City, and he shrieked just then. The doors swung wide open, and orcs, countless rows of them, marched with their clanking weapons and armor out of the city, ready for battle.

Then the shriek sounded again, this time higher, and more painful. The blade of the Witch-King crushed Frodo's shoulder, and he grabbed for it, a strained cry trying to come out. Sev bent down, questioning and frightened.

"I can feel his blade . . ."

Sev grabbed his hand that clutched the Morgul wound, and immediately the blackness receded. The pain subsided, throbbing into nothingness. Frodo blinked, glancing at her hand. He had an initiative to put her hand straight to his shoulder. As though that would do anything.

It might.

But the moment he made the attempt, the Witch-King had gone, and Sev stood, bringing Frodo to his feet. They made it to the stairs, and Sev admonished Frodo to go first. He didn't trust himself up there; he also didn't have the strength to argue. Smeagol took up the very back.

Crunching sounds continued to flow from below as they mounted the stairs. Smeagol had somehow wound ahead of Frodo.

"The stairs," he said. "Very dangerous." As if on cue, as Frodo tried to mount the final stair, he began to slide back over.

"Careful, Master!" Then Smeagol halted.

Sev's voice was almost hoarse. "Leave him alone!" she cried. Smeagol reached for Frodo despite her insistence and dragged him up over the stair. He didn't get her suspicion, and felt he hopefully didn't have to. Frodo staggered into a prone position, exhausted. They had been climbing the stairs for so long . . .

And then Smeagol said Sev wanted the Ring. "Soon," Smeagol said, "she will ask for it."

Frodo glanced back at Sev. He could see that happening. He couldn't let it happen.

Sev was exhausted too. She laid down a few feet away. Frodo glanced at her, then at Smeagol, who again asked if he could go look for food. Frodo just nodded, waving his hand as much as he could manage. At this point lifting a finger pulled at his strength.

"I'm so tired, Sev . . ." he said.

"I know," she responded. She rolled over with great effort two or three times. He didn't have the energy to protest. She laid a hand on his back. "Come, lay down."

At least she had offered. Frodo felt a little better. He had wanted to ask her if he could lay his head on her lap, and through his muddle didn't entirely understand how she'd known exactly what he was thinking.

Accordingly for his thoughts, though, Frodo rolled up tight in his cloak and settled his head against Sev's lap. Her hand drifted to his forehead, rubbing back on his hair. Then she kissed his forehead, warming him from head to feet. One of her gentle hands laid on his heart.

The moment he relaxed enough for it, he draped one arm over his stomach, and settled his other hand over hers on his chest. He had her for a minute.

And he couldn't want to let go.


	22. The Ring Wins One

Frodo's dreams were dark. Sev had the Ring. Smeagol was Gollum. There was a spider . . . he only ever saw its leg, but said leg was the thickness of a tree trunk.

Then Sev left. Earendil glowed in his hands. When it darkened he felt comforted, because then he probably had Sev.

He awakened very carefully and gently, feeling all sorts of emotions but stilled by Sev's fingers tracing his forehead.

"Sev," he said, stretching. Sev kept him there, though. He could feel the cliff's edge a foot or so away from his head. His hands had left where he'd put them, somehow. He laid his hand back over Sev's, rubbing her gentle knuckles with his thumb. He didn't want to get up, not really. But he did want to finish this, to get rid of the Ring.

"Where? It's . . ." Suddenly muddled after that influx of thought, he didn't remember where he was. Or why. Why would she be right there?

"It's time, Frodo." She kissed his forehead again, and he remembered. Minas Morgul. Stairs. Smeagol. "Do you want something to eat?"

He nodded uncertainly, and she set him aside against her cloak, bunched on the ground beside her.

Her voice was haunted and frightened a moment later when she spoke. "Frodo, have you eaten anything since we left the border of Gondor?"

Frodo thought about it for a second. He didn't remember. He shook his head anyway, thinking he hadn't.

"The lembas is gone," she said, her voice strained. Her eyebrows narrowed, and she turned to Smeagol. "You wouldn't have eaten it. You couldn't have."

Smeagol paused, eyeing her sleeve. Then he gasped, fingering lembas crumbs off.

"Are you serious?" she demanded. "I don't even—!"

"Girl one is always eating when Master isn't looking!" Smeagol proclaimed. "Girl one makes up nasty lies about Smeagol to hide it!"

Sev buried her face in her hand. Frodo doubted she'd eaten it, although how else this all had come about was completely beyond him. "Gollum, why? Why would you do this?" She surveyed Frodo, tears pricking her eyes. She looked frightened, and Frodo wondered why. She sank to the ground, shielding her face with both hands.

Frodo joined her a moment later. Her warmth wavered. Her strength was failing. "Sev, we must go on." He laid an arm around her shoulders. Perhaps the pains.

At this point . . . the Ring didn't care about her pains. And therefore a growing part of him didn't either. He fought it, but the exhaustion battled him fiercely.

"Frodo, you have to eat! You won't have the energy to carry the Ring at this rate, much less survive," she said. Frodo halted. He had to carry the Ring. Instantly snappy replies built up in his head, but he threw them down. They had no reason to be there. "I could carry it for a while," she added. "Share the load; then we could probably find you something to—,"

"No!" Frodo clutched the Ring and ducked away. "Sev, you cannot!"

"Frodo, I just want to help—," she insisted.

"Girl one wants it for herself!" Smeagol chanted. Those words reverberated through Frodo's head.

Sev berated Smeagol for a second or two before turning back to Frodo. "Frodo, I beg of you, Gollum is trying to kill you, trying to get the Ring!"

The Ring took over then. "No, Sev," it said. "You want the Ring." Frodo protested against himself, knowing it would only burn her. She couldn't carry it, but she certainly didn't want it. Why would she want it?

"Frodo, did you see what that thing did to me?!" She unfolded her fingers, and the dark red scar angrily glared at Frodo. "Of course I don't want it; I want to help!"

Frodo reached for the scar. It looked so painful. The Ring pulled him back, and Sev swallowed, eyes begging him.

"You shouldn't help me anymore, Sev." His own words terrified him. He didn't know where they were coming from. "It's too dangerous. The Ring is trying to take you." Finally, some of his own words. And yet his heart sank and his stomach knotted at the next words out of his mouth. His head bowed with dread.

"Go home."

Everything the Ring had not yet taken control of within him screamed at him. This was illogical, ridiculous. Why would he do such a thing? To protect her?

To protect the Ring.

"Frodo—," Sev tried.

"Go home," he replied, and his head lifted. Tears, spurred by what he knew was right but would not come out, followed one after the other out of his eyes. Sev backed away into a corner, curling tight into a ball. He wished she would fight him, insist she go to Mordor. But she wouldn't now, he knew.

"Frodo, you can't." She condensed, pulling into a ball. "They'll kill you." Her face disappeared inside her knees. Frodo wanted to reach for her. The Ring pulled him away, and so did Smeagol. Soon they had mounted enough stairs that she had disappeared.

The cold and the blackness set in. Frodo couldn't stop glancing back, wondering when she would follow.

 _It is you and Smeagol now._

"Sev . . ." he muttered.

She was gone, though. After a while he realized she wasn't coming back. He could see her walking down the stairs.

The Ring fought him. He wanted to go back for her.

The Ring told him to forget.

The Ring.

The Ring . . .


	23. Shelob

Smeagol led him to a black tunnel. Frodo swallowed, glancing inside. Another chill, brazen and angry, swept over him.

"We made it," Smeagol said gleefully. "The tunnel."

Frodo swallowed. "Suddenly . . . I don't want to do it. There's something in there—,"

"Master must either go through the tunnel," Smeagol said, "or turn back."

Frodo stood, conviction set. Even the Ring didn't argue on this one. "I can't turn back." With that, he entered the tunnel. Smeagol followed him in, then began to lead him on. The creature began to fade in and out of sight with the whole twists and turns shrouded in blackness, but soon vanished altogether.

"Smeagol?!" Frodo called out. Then he slapped against the wall . . . and was met with a net-like stickiness. He gasped and leaped away. "It's sticky!" he called out. "What is it?"

Smeagol cackled. "You will see," he said. Frodo lifted an eyebrow. This made no sense. "Oh, you will see."

Frodo walked a few more paces, still calling out for Smeagol, when he tripped and collapsed onto more stickiness . . . and something semi-solid. He glanced down. A skull. He scrambled back. Everywhere he looked, now that he noticed, he could see corpses. A bird, an orc hanging from the ceiling.

He gasped and fell back. "Smeagol!"

The creature did not respond.

Then a voice slipped into his head: _Let it be a light to you in dark places when all other lights are gone out._

Frodo frantically grabbed Earendil from his side, lifting it into the air and chanting to awaken it. It illuminated blue.

He felt a chill at his back, and he slowly turned around. A series of black, menacing eyes stared at him, and a spider larger than a horse shot out from its hiding place, shrieking and hissing. Frodo unsheathed Sting and backed away quickly. The spider lunged, but when Frodo lifted Earendil he found he could force it back. He dashed away, down one of the nearest tunnels. The spider pursued him, but he slipped through a hole (for which he sacrificed the Light he had) that the spider could not follow him through. It turned and raced the other way. It knew how to find him.

So he pressed on, still searching frantically for Smeagol. As he turned behind him to make sure the spider wasn't close, he slammed right into a wall of web, jouncing as he was caught. He struggled, trying to break free. The strands were half as thick as his finger, and forty times as powerful, at least.

Then he heard Smeagol.

"Naughty little fly, why does it cry? Dangling in the web, soon you will be . . ." Gollum halted menacingly on the rock ahead. "Eaten."

Sev had been right the entire time. How she knew Frodo didn't know. He cried out, lashing at the web as the spider approached from behind. Gollum screeched and ran away. Sting got wrapped in the web, but the spider was close enough that Frodo simply had to abandon it.

He followed Gollum out of the tunnels, emerging at the mouth of a path that seemed to lead into Mordor. He began walking, only to be attacked by Gollum, who strained for the Ring. After a few minutes, Frodo landed on top of Gollum. The Ring's hatred flared through him, and he nearly strangled the creature.

"Master!" Gollum screeched.

Frodo snapped back to himself, and he released Gollum. Exhaustion overwhelmed him when the Ring's influence dissipated. He breathed hard, glancing up at the red beam of light that he assumed was his next destination.

"I have to destroy it," he gasped as he eyed the creature he could have killed. The thought haunted him. "For both our sakes."

He turned and walked away, but not a few moments later Gollum attacked him again. He struggled, and Gollum fell from his hands into a chasm.

Frodo hoped he hadn't killed the frail thing.

He turned and stumbled along. The Ring weighed on him, and the cold claimed every inch of him.

"Oh, Sev," he said. His words quickly collapsed into a painful moan. "I'm so sorry, Sev." He chanted this to himself until he could no longer move. He collapsed, one knee at a time, onto the ground. Then he fell over onto the empty rock . . . which somehow felt soft against his face, like grass.

He frowned, sitting up. He lay in a sun-lit forest, and when he glanced forward, Galadriel approached.

 _This task was appointed to you, Frodo of the Shire._ She beckoned to the side, and Frodo followed her gaze. Sev! She looked just as he had left her, but overjoyed in a wistful sort of way. _If you do not find a way_ , Galadriel continued _, no one will._

Sev knelt down, offering her hand. "Please, Frodo. I want to help you."

Tears pricked at Frodo's eyes. He wished this were truly happening . . . "I'm so sorry, Sev," he said. If he could say it to her. But he glanced down at her hand. She was offering him the chance to go on, even if he had sent her home. Conviction seized him, and he grabbed her hand. The warmth flooded him, fighting the blackness, as she smiled. He didn't want to let her go; he wanted her to be there.

He was thrown upright onto his feet, even when the vision ended, and he stumbled forward.

The tower was in sight. He heard pebbles behind him, and glanced back. Then he thought he heard Sev . . . telling him to watch out.

He turned back, and a sharp pincer caught him in the other shoulder. He jolted, and the world went black as he slumped to the ground.

 **Sorry for having two short chapters in a row, but these were nice little places to stop. :P**


	24. I'm So Sorry, Sev

When Frodo awakened, he was even colder than he had been before. Spiderweb claimed his face, and he was lying on his side. Against stone, it felt like, shielding his entire torso. Spasms spread through him.

He glanced up. A stone wall made up the entire world just ahead of him. His hands were bound. Then he heard a jingling behind him, and he glanced up. A pair of orcs stood there, and they were fingering his mithril. Soon they began bickering and killing one another . . .

Frodo felt frantically at his neck. The Ring was gone.

He scrambled about, writhing helplessly. He'd failed. And they would torture him to death while they destroyed the rest of Middle Earth.

Sev. They would probably kill Sev. She couldn't have gotten past Gondor by this point, right outside Mordor.

"I'm so sorry, Sev," Frodo breathed, despair gripping his heart like an icy claw. He settled back. Nothing he could think would console him, except that, if the Ring was still here, the orcs would have destroyed each other so as to never get it to Sauron, leastwise not until it called to him and he could find it.

But that was a slim hope.

Not likely, and he didn't assume much.

Then he heard screams downstairs again. He settled against the floor, emotionally banged up. He tried to twist out of his binds. The knot was bigger than his head.

Frodo jolted and flipped over when he heard an orc behind him. "Stop your squealin', you miserable rat!" The orc pulled out a savage-looking knife. "I'm going to bleed you, like a stuck pig!"

Just then a pair of swords, one glowing blue, crashed down on the orc's head, and he slumped down the stairs. Sev stared after him, breathing hard.

"Not if I get you first," she muttered bitterly.

Frodo's heart felt ready to explode. Her sarcasm lit him up, and the sight of her face—alive and actually there—ignited a small spark of hope. "Sev!"

Sev bit her lip, then sprang to his side. Her hand wrapped about the back of his head, bringing his forehead to her shoulder. The swords clattered away as her other hand held the back of his neck. She pulled away, and kisses dotted his face. He settled beneath her free expression, and the warmth that returned with it. He could feel the relief; he had plenty of his own too. Her lips were gentle and faint, but just deep enough that it sent small shocks of warmth with every kiss. He hoped, in somewhat of an initial, not considered way, that her lips would brush his.

"You were dead," she said, her voice strained to keep the sobs out of it.

Frodo settled his head against her. "Sev," he managed. "I'm so sorry, Sev."

"Nothing to it." Sev pulled away. She let her hand to his cheek, tracing back over and over again, flicking through his hair. She studied his face, memorizing it urgently. "I'm just so glad you're alive."

Sev grabbed a knife from her side and sliced through the binds at his hands. Then her eyes widened as she studied him. Her eyes caught the wounds on either shoulder, but he didn't care as much about that.

"Frodo . . .!" Then her eyes widened. "The mithril!"

"That doesn't matter," Frodo insisted, sitting up. "They have it, Sev; they took the Ring!"

Sev paused, teetering. Frodo eyed her warily. She surveyed him, weighing her options. Finally she said,

"I'm sorry, Frodo, but they haven't."

She didn't. She couldn't have. No. No, she didn't. The risks; what if it burned her? What if it took over?

Sev stretched her neck, neatly avoiding scraping her jaw with the Ring as she lifted it off of her cloak, over her head, through the thick tendrils of her hair, and into the air. Frodo turned to her. Why? How could she? Did she not know that he loved—no, actually, she didn't.

"I thought I'd—," she coughed. "I thought I'd lost you. So I took it. I could finish it if you—,"

Not on his life, no.

"Sev, give me the Ring," he insisted.

Her eyes widened. "Frodo . . ."

He shook his head. "Sev, it'll burn you if you keep it. Give me the Ring."

He hoped she could see the purpose in him. She approached him carefully and laid it around his neck, and the familiar weight returned. So did the blackness that had been taking him for so long. Sev's fingers settled beneath the chain as though to keep it away as long as possible, but Frodo had made his decision, so she backed away. He turned to look back up at her. "Sev, please understand," he said, surveying her expression. "If you carry it, it will kill you."

He turned to stand, and Sev grabbed his hands, pulling him to his feet. "We'd better find some armor. It'd be no good to go through Mordor in naught but permeable." She located the pack and threw a white shirt to Frodo, then turned to find armor.

Frodo could do nothing but sit down. He rubbed a hand over his face, where her kisses had been. He felt her lips as they traveled over him. She'd come back for him, even after everything he did . . . everything she had done.

She emerged from the top of the stairwell, and he glanced at her face, that gentle face . . . the gentle woman who would do anything for him. She held out one pile of the armor, not looking up at him.

"All right, so they're really heavy and a little big, but I think—," Sev glanced up just then, blinking when she saw Frodo. He cocked his head, hoping that, even in a moment so close to destroying the Ring, she would let him hold her. He leaped forward, bringing her to him. She dropped the armor abruptly, hugging him back.

"You came for me," he said, the wonder of it not quite gone.

She kissed his cheek again, and his pulse fluttered. "Of course I did," she said gently. "I never wanted to leave you."

That spoke more to him than she could possibly know. "And you didn't take the Ring to the mountain," he said, testing the waters a little.

She paused. "Galadriel did say the task was appointed to you. Even if I wanted to find a way, I couldn't," she said.

Frodo pulled away. "So you were there."

She nodded, and he just stood there, awed. He wanted to kiss her, and he battled with himself over it until she bent over and pulled the armor up for him to use. She put on her own. It looked rather sinister and dark on her, matching the veins in her hands and in her eyes. Her helmet looked ridiculous, but Frodo said nothing. She probably had picked it for that very reason, knowing her.

"Smells like something died in here," she remarked. Something probably had, Frodo realized. She offered her hand to him, and they walked down the stairs and out into the land of Mordor.


	25. Wasteland of Mordor

Frodo stared around the vast, black countryside. "There are so many of them," he said, spotting the torches thkat marked probably at least twenty orcs apiece. Those spanned the entire rocky ground; there had to be thousands. He could see the eye and the mountain both in the distance. So much ground to cover yet, and he was already tired. The Ring rubbed, irritated, against his neck, weighing down hard.

Sev spoke from beside him. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Yay, we made it!"

"We'll never get through unseen," Frodo mused, worried and grave. "Sev, I don't know how we'll do this."

"Let's get down the hill first," she said, turning to him. "Then we can be depressed about the fact that we are not two hobbits in a big land, or two hobbits in a little land, but a hobbit and an anti-creature in a frying pan."

Frodo blinked, eyeing her warily. "Indeed?"

Sev lifted her hands. "If you'd rather be frivolous getting down there, that's all fine with me, but you look like you want to be depressed." Then she glanced down at the torches. "Frodo, look! They're moving."

"Come on, then." Frodo slid down the slope, catching the base trail with his feet. Sev joined him, and he steadied her arm with a hand. He heard the crunching of orc armor down the trail; they were coming.

Sev turned to the other direction of the trail, staring down it. But to go that way would be to walk right into the center of the Mordor army. She leaped across the small footpath.

"Frodo, we can—," She abruptly stopped. She backed away, shrugging. "We can do nothing."

Frodo paused. Orcs were vicious. He wished he could do something more to protect them, but all he could see was the resource they had as being small and unnoticeable. They could hopefully slip out. He almost considered Sev as at an advantage . . . and then he realized they were almost the exact same size. He pulled her to the side, and he sat casually against the side of the mountain.

Orcs limped and bounded around the bend, clanking and banging like Sam's frying pans, just as dangerous and loud (when being used as weapons) but a little less ruthless about it. Frodo tried to look wounded, exhausted, ignorant, anything, but soon the leader came screeching and raving around the bend, snapping a whip. Sev grabbed Frodo protectively, shielding him from the whip as they were shoved into the shuffling line. Frodo heard metallic bangs as the whip collided with her armor . . . and then the snap against flesh.

The Ring pulled, and Frodo stumbled. Sev grabbed his arm, wrapping it about her shoulders, and she basically carried him the rest of the way. His wrist at the breach of his glove brushed her neck, where a line of throbbing heat grew. She had been snapped.

"Sev, are you all right?" he asked. The words barely escaped him; the Ring's chain sawed into his flesh, and the weight pulled on him. His feet dragged across the ground in heavy increments.

"I'm fine," she said, throwing it off. "We have to get out of here."

Then someone yelled, "Inspection!" as they ground to a halt. He heard grunts, and felt Sev tense up beside him. He sank in her hands. He winced; he had surprised her, apparently, by sinking. She struggled to keep him standing.

"Sev, it's so heavy . . ." Had he been able to think more clearly, he would have simply told her it was no use to hold him up. She glanced down, then gasped. Frodo could feel the blood emerging and scabbing beneath the Ring's chain. And now she could see it. And probably felt pulled to it.

Then Frodo heard a roar.

"Frodo! Frodo, what do I do?!"

Frodo's eyes flickered upward. He could see the inspector. He was charging to them; the hobbit had to think fast. "Hit me, Sev."

"Frodo, I'm not going to hit you."

Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. They simply didn't have time. "Hit me!" he insisted. "Start fighting!"

She began weakly kneeing him in the stomach, and he drove her harder. "As hard as you can, Sev!" Apparently she truly had been holding back. The blows snapped pain through him . . . but it vanished almost as immediately as it appeared. She healed whatever she hurt. He breathed slowly.

Orcs roared and fought, and the whip came out. "Now, Sev!" Frodo insisted, and they both ducked away. Sev pulled him into a nearby shamble of a tent. She settled both hands on his shoulders, setting him on the ground.

"Are you all right?" she swallowed.

Frodo's lungs heaved. It had nothing to do with her, and he wished he could tell her that. He could only nod. Sev laid a glove against his helmet, rubbing along it. It was as though he could feel her hand to his head, and so he settled. But he didn't have time for it. She didn't have time for it, either. He tried to stand, but she kept him down. "No," she said. "Stay here for a minute; you need to rest a little."

He shook his head. "We need to keep moving, Sev." He found the strength to say just a little of what he wanted to. "You did well, and I'm fine." He stood, but she looked rather adamant. He paused, waiting for Sev to defy him, but she simply laid his arm across her shoulders, lifting him out of the tent and into the open, deadly air.


	26. The Ring is Mine

Soon Sev's breathing became labored. Frodo had been sagging onto her, the weight of the Ring slowly beating him down. The armor hindered as well, but wasn't remotely as difficult to carry. He realized she might be able to feel the weight of both. Only partially afraid of what she would do to him for not taking full advantage of his help, he released her and stepped back.

She looked like protesting. She turned back to him, eyes flicking open and shut. She halted, stumbling onto the ground. Frodo felt guilt and sorrow prick him; he'd made her carry him this far. She could stop here; he just had to make it to Mount Doom, drop the Ring in. Then they would be finished with this.

Sev's eyes flicked back to him periodically. She rested sometimes, to let him catch up and probably to work up her strength so she could carry him when he finally did. But he didn't want her to carry him again, not if it cost her so much. So he stopped when she did, and eventually all she could do was look back.

Finally Frodo's feet were so sore, his armor so crushing, his heart so exhausted, and the Ring so menacingly heavy that he collapsed. The helmet was cutting off his breathing, and so he grabbed the beak of it with one hand and tore it off, inhaling and exhaling heavily. Sev limped to him, kneeling right in front of him.

"It's such a weight to carry," he rasped.

Sev pulled off one of her gloves, caressing his head with one hand. His eyes slid closed; he didn't want to move. He rested his chin on a nearby rock.

"Even the most direct route is far," she muttered. "I think we ought to get rid of anything we don't need."

Frodo turned to stand, but Sev set him back down, insisting that he rest. He told her they had to keep going. For the second time since they'd entered Mordor, that exact phrase had worked.

Apparently it was the magic phrase.

This time, though, he stood and lifted her to her feet. They settled on each other as one got tired, progressing slowly and painfully up a nearby hill. Sev threw her armor and pack, everything but her waterskin. Frodo did the same, also retaining the journal within his white shirt.

Sev persisted in letting Frodo rest. Finally he submitted, and the moment he sat down, he realized he never wanted to stand, let alone walk across Mordor, again. His legs ached, his feet were numb with the blistering against stones of Mordor. Sev stepped a small distance away, leaning against the ledge of rock. Frodo needed solace, and so he dragged himself across the rocks to her side.

He could feel her arm around his shoulders, her fingers gently probing his upper arm as she exhaustedly squeezed him to her side.

Then her voice softly stepped through what little consciousness remained.

"Frodo," she said. His eyes drifted open, and Sev gently lifted the hair from his face, fingering it across to the sides. "Light." He glanced up. He saw the star behind her, cutting through the clouds, but then all he could stare at were her eyes as they flickered hopefully from the star to his face, then back again. "Something so beautiful and bright no darkness can completely take it away." She turned to him, resting her hand on his cheek. Something pricked her visage then, and she kissed his forehead deeply. He settled beneath it. The warmth fought back the Ring for a still, numb moment.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind in a few seconds. The first accumulated to the fact that they were both dying, her probably more physically than himself. The second became, "I have to express something." The third . . . he wanted to kiss her, tell her he loved her. But he couldn't.

"Sev?" he said, ready and prepared to do it.

But in that moment, when she turned to him expecting a statement . . .

He couldn't do it.

He kissed her forehead, as she had done for him, and the chills raced through him again. "It's almost over," was all he said. Sev nodded, exhausted, and stood. She offered her hands, and he took them. She brought him to his feet, and they continued.

It was not long before Frodo had to rest again, and apparently Sev did too. He sat against the rock . . . only to find that his waterskin was empty. Sev offered him hers. "There's a little left," she said.

There certainly was; it cooled Frodo's throat as it raced down. Then he began to process. "Will there be enough to get back?"

Sev shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I don't know that we'll need much to get back."

He was afraid she would say that. "Sev?"

"Frodo, I told you I would do everything I could to get you back home," she said, biting her lip. "And stealing your resources isn't going to help any. I'm wasting away as it is. I'm dying, and there's nothing for it." She swallowed.

Frodo stood slowly. "Sev, you can't leave me."

"I'll get you out of Mordor first, I promise," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. She wavered; it felt like she wanted to lean on him, but couldn't find the inner power to do it. He didn't need her to get him out of Mordor. He needed her to be home with him. She pulled him up onto the next level of rock, and they continued.

As they progressed, Frodo could feel the Eye scanning Mordor very thoroughly. Then suddenly, as he walked, the Ring flew up from its hanging by his neck, catching Sev in the shoulder. She collapsed, and Frodo turned back.

Then he felt the Eye coming to him.

"Frodo, get down!" Sev cried, grabbing his ankle. He dropped immediately behind a pile of rock. The Eye had seared through him, catching the glint of the Ring for only a hint of a moment. But soon it moved on.

Sev grabbed his wrist, and his heart shoved against the pressure of her fingers. It was a matter of moments before Sev stood, approaching him. She grabbed his waist with both hands. Her fingers were long and powerful for fingers, and she strained him to his feet. They approached Mount Doom itself, and could have walked up the slope in minutes at the pace they had gone through Gondor. But now it seemed impossible.

Sharp rocks sliced against their skin, and eventually Sev crashed to the ground ahead of Frodo. The hope in him collapsed; he fell, too.

Mount Doom rumbled agonizingly and mockingly above them. Sev did not move. He saw black blood dotting in cuts along every bit of exposed skin of her. He had to finish this. For the Shire. For Gandalf.

For Sev.

*He dug his fingers into the mountainside, grabbing his way up handful by handful of dirt and stone. But soon even his arms tired, and he broke down right a small distance ahead of Sev. She strained right up next to him. Her fingers settled against his neck, touching the scar. He felt the flesh begin to mend itself beneath her touch. A shame that had to be addicting; it would have been helpful for him, to have her mend all of his wounds.

Sev scraped up the mountainside to him, grabbing his limp form with one arm. She turned him over and brought him up into her arms, his shoulder resting in the crook of one. The other wrapped around his front, then restlessly lifted its hand to his face.

"Remember the Shire, Frodo?" She sounded like breaking; her fingers pushed his hair back, stroking repeatedly. He fell to the rhythm of it, to the gentle warmth combating the scalding heat of Mordor. "It'll be spring about now. They'll be planting the barley in the fields, and the orchards will be in blossom." He could almost see it. Almost. But it was marred by a fiery shadow, the Eye trying to find the Ring. Sev fought the Ring . . . yet again. "They'll be having the first of strawberries with cream." But she didn't like strawberries, or cream. "Do you remember the taste of strawberries, Frodo?"

Frodo's eyes met hers. Tears flooded them, trickling down. He wanted to finger them away, but his arm would not move. "No, Sev," he said finally. "I can't recall the taste of food . . . the sound of water . . ." Her lips brushed his forehead. "Nor the touch of grass . . . running about after dark . . ."

The tears continued, and her eyes remained closed.~

Then Sauron entered Frodo's mind. "Now all I can feel is him . . .! He is watching me, and I can see him . . . with my waking eyes!" The Eye hissed at him, and the Ring pulled. He strove with everything he had not to break, not to convulse, not to cower.

Sev's eyes flickered open, immediately narrowed. "Then let us be rid of it!" Her expression grew hopeful, sorrowful, dark . . . everything. "Come on, Frodo. I can't carry it for you, and I'm pretty sure I can't carry you, but I can certainly try!"

Frodo wanted to protest. He couldn't even force words out, much less let them materialize in his head. She grabbed both of his wrists, launching him over her back. Her pulse raced, and she pushed forward with intense force.

They covered ground faster with just her walking; Frodo wondered how she managed it, but dared not make assumptions, or ask. Soon she called back to him that they were almost there. He breathed a sigh of relief; he could drop the Ring in. And they had both survived thus far. They could make it out of here.

Then he heard, "Tricksy hobbitses." Gollum's spindly form leaped onto his back, dragging him from off of Sev. He collided hard with the ground, and rolled with Gollum down the mountain.

"Sev!" he called out desperately. Gollum grappled for the Ring, finally shoving his hands against Frodo's throat. Frodo strained to keep air coming, but it would not force past Gollum's fingers.

"You swore on the Precious!" he insisted. "Smeagol promised!"

There was no Smeagol left within the creature before him, he realized. Gollum cocked his head. "Smeagol lied."

Finally Gollum wrenched away with a screech. Sev grabbed him, dragging him away from Frodo until he could stand. "Run, Frodo, just get out of here!" she called. He raced up the mountainside and was halfway up when he heard Sev cry out, agonized. He turned back, but she had vanished. Soon she stood, and Gollum followed, his nose bleeding. Gollum pursued her, but she pulled out her sword.

Frodo raced the rest of the way up the mountainside, into the Crack of Doom. Smoke and fire surrounded him, and Mount Doom rumbled in his ears. Soon he heard Sev behind him. So she was all right.

"Frodo!" she called out. "Frodo—!"

Frodo caught her by the shoulders, and immediately she began to cough. He grabbed her harder.

"Are you all right?" he asked. He didn't know if Gollum had hurt her. He checked her quickly, but she shrugged it off.

"Where's the Ring?" she asked.

Frodo nodded, turning. He raced to the end of the precipice and pulled the Ring from his neck, moving to drop it in. Then he paused. He settled the chain in his hand, staring at the gold. It was such a sweet, precious thing. What harm could it do?

 _It's done more harm than anything else in your life! The Shire! Sev! Gandalf! Sam—_

The voice within him was cut off. The Ring. It was beautiful, it was small, it was relatively insignificant. It belonged to him. Why shouldn't he keep it? Now that he stood here, he didn't want to destroy it.

It had become a part of him.

It controlled him now.

"What are you waiting for?!" Sev's voice was numb against his ears. "Just let it go!"

Frodo turned back, glowering. She wanted him to get rid of it. He'd get rid of her first.

"Frodo, no!" she cried. "Frodo, please, I'm begging you!"

"The Ring is mine," he insisted. He snapped it from its chain. An overwhelming stimulation flowed through his arm as he slipped the Ring over his finger, and he faded from sight.

"No!" Sev leaned forward, trying to find him, but was quickly struck down. Frodo turned to watch the lava. Perhaps she was of no concern.

Then something leaped on him. He fought it, trying to wrench away, but the spindly thing grappled with him, finally grabbing his hand. He more cried out at the loss of the Ring than at the loss of his finger, at the pain that followed. He collapsed to his knees, grabbing his hand. He stared at his finger where the Ring had been—and then realized it had not yet been destroyed.

"Leave him alone!" Sev shouted behind him, but she collapsed. Frodo's head cleared about then, and he understood with a sickening dread what he had just done. His eyes widened, and he stood despite the throbbing pain in his hand. His stomach knotted at the sight of the remains of his finger.

He glanced back at Sev, but she nodded at Gollum, exhausted. Frodo had to finish this alone; Sev was hurt and could not move. "Smeagol, get rid of it!" he called out desperately. "Smeagol, throw it in! For both our sakes, let it go!"

The creature would not listen. So Frodo reached forward, grabbing for the Ring. He had to destroy it before he fell prey again. Gollum hissed, pulling back on it. Determination flared, Frodo fought, for all of Middle Earth and everything he cared for. Finally, it slipped into his fingers, and Gollum knocked against him, throwing both over the chasm. Frodo grabbed a jutting corner of the cliff's side; Gollum was not so lucky, and Frodo's eyes sealed closed as he imagined Gollum. But there were no screams. The loss of one on behalf of the Ring. At least there would be no more.


	27. I Would Have Married Him

"Frodo!" Sev cried. Her voice strained as she raced towards the cliff's edge, and she glanced down frantically.

"Sev," Frodo said, helpless. His fingers were locked, but he was falling limp. Exhaustion and loss of blood began to claim him. He sagged down the cliff, then grappled for his handhold.

"Frodo!" Sev said desperately. "Come on!"

Both of their gazes fell to the Ring.

"Don't you let go." He'd been expecting her to yell her words over the clamor of the mountain, but despite her lack of force he could hear her words perfectly.

Frodo shook his head and turned back to her. "I won't let go, Sev," he said. "I do want to go home." He hefted his other hand, catching her outstretched one. The top of his finger tingled as it mended over, and she pulled him from the cliff.

Suddenly Mount Doom burst into stone and flame, but Frodo didn't care, and neither did Sev. She held him to her.

"Frodo, you're alive!" She paused, her voice growing partially jocose. "Again!"

He nodded against her jaw. One of her hands rested against the blood on his neck, and the wound peeled back to healed skin beneath her touch. Frodo rolled into her arms. She stood a few moments later, when the bridge began to creak under them. Then she yanked him out of the mountain, a sudden sense of urgency accompanying her movements. They leaped out as the bridge collapsed, and lava burst out from behind them.

Sev dragged him away from the lava onto an outcropping of rock, and he began breathing hard. "It's gone!" he said joyfully. The weight was suddenly yanked from him, no longer there . . . letting his soul fly over the lava and its mountain as it would. "Oh, Sev, it's gone!"

Sev nodded, her expression exhausted and somehow relieved. She squawked as a wave of lava licked at Frodo's feet, and they both scrambled back against the rock. They were trapped by fire on all sides, but Frodo half didn't care. The burden had been thrown away. They were just there, the two of them. He laid against the rock, breathing hard.

Finally the shadow, the flame, was gone. "I can see the Shire," he exhaled. His eyes traveled across the landscape, not minding time as he limped back to happier life. "The Brandywine River . . . West Farthing . . . Bag End . . . Gandalf's fireworks . . . the lights in the party tree . . ."

Sev caught on immediately. "Rosie Cotton," she added, "dancing with Sam."

Frodo swallowed back what he wanted to say. Initially he could see Sev first. "Pippin, Merry . . ." he said instead, remembering the dragon firework and their blackened faces as they washed the dishes.

Sev stopped. Her voice came out a whisper. "Frodo Baggins," she said. He stilled, and imagined what he would think, could he utter her name. But she continued, surveying him. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. "He was so happy that night." That triggered her smile in his head. Suddenly she was no longer Sev, scarred and pained on the mountainside in a foreign world; she was a beautiful, happy hobbit, laughing and dancing. Intermittent chills of warmth danced up his arm when he took her hand. The image faded, and the Sev before him leaned forward, pulling her knees up to her face. He suddenly wondered, for a moment, what might have happened if they never left.

Her voice remained low, as though a prayer. "If I was to marry someone, it would have been him." Her voice escalated desperately, and her face turned away as wistful guilt racked her expression. "It would have been him!"

Sev's words shocked Frodo. He felt a surge of hope. She had loved him, but this took it to a whole different level. Suddenly he knew what he would do if they survived. He lifted gently to her. He could see the ring he would have had for her . . . the smile on her face when he asked her to marry him.

He couldn't now. They were dying.

But at least he was dying with her.

He laid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in to him. "I'm glad to be with you, Seville," he said. His head turned against the side of hers. His nose met her face, and the warmth trickled through him. "Here, at the end of all things." He gently fingered the opposite side of her face and kissed the cheek near him. He held her in his arms, and she laid both hands on the arm before her.

The world exploded around them.

He heeded it not.

He had his Sev.

Even if he couldn't marry her, couldn't have her at Bag End, he could put his arm around her. It was a simple thing he'd done a hundred times, but Frodo still felt the peace of it.

Quickly, though, the warmth faded as she collapsed over a different pile of rock. Frodo hadn't the energy to go find her. Suddenly he felt himself plucked from the ground by something scaly that carved through his clothes. His head dangled over the back of it. A few minutes later, though, he felt Sev's hand to his forehead. He slacked into the somewhat uncomfortable grip below him.

"We're going home."

The next thing he felt was a distinct coldness. It was white, but it was cold. It was patching his wounds, but it wasn't warm or comforting at all. The coldness vanished, replaced with an emptiness that swallowed him.

Then Sev's hand settled on his forehead. The fingers from her other hand spread over his heart. He reached for them; the warmth calmed him beyond anything.

Her lips met his forehead, graced his cheek. She departed.

Then Frodo's eyes flickered open, hoping to see her. She was not there. He sat up, glancing around. The room was white, and he knew he was not dead, for the wound still pulsed through his veins. Then he saw a sight that never could have crossed his mind, that inflated hope within him like the rising sun.

"Gandalf?" Frodo could even feel his own smile this time. Gandalf laughed, and so did Frodo, overjoyed. Pippin and Merry raced in then, leaping onto the bed and bouncing all around Frodo as they embraced him. They laughed and joked as he greeted Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn, and Sam.

Frodo flicked his eyes to the door every few minutes to see if Sev was there. After a while, her eyes peeked coyly around. Frodo smiled deeply at her. She slipped into the doorway. She was dressed in white, and her hair flowed like a bush on top of her head. She looked like an angel, and he wanted to kiss her. He moved his feet, then patted the bed beside Pippin.

Sev reluctantly crept over and took a seat beside him. "Devil," she said, ruffling his hair. "Going to a volcano for a piece of jewelry. What on Earth am I supposed to do with you?"

He didn't know what she would do with him, but he knew what he would do with her. He embraced her and pressed his lips deeply to her cheek. His eyes rolled back as the warmth washed over him.

She laughed. "Do you feel better, Frodo?"

He pulled away a little, although his hands rested on her shoulders still. She gently touched his bitten finger. "Much better. What of you?"

She shrugged. "I could see an improvement, but I've also been far worse. I just want to get you home and safe."

And Frodo realized then that home meant . . . meant that he could marry her. He opened his mouth to ask, but just then their eyes caught.

Sev's eyes grew sorrowful, somehow. She brought his face forward in her hands with one behind his neck and the other lining his jaw. She kissed his forehead, one of his eyelids, his cheek, his nose . . . and then let her lips to his own for a brief second. He wanted to deepen it; she pulled away and was gone before he could do anything more.

Pippin and Merry began crowing relentlessly, teasing Frodo a little bit. Pippin didn't seem jealous at all, and that settled Frodo. He blushed under their words. Sam just turned red as well and followed Sev.

Soon Gandalf escorted them all out, and Frodo spoke to him for a while.

"Gandalf . . . I love her," he said finally, after they talked about Gandalf's death and rebirth.

Gandalf nodded, a smile gracing his face. "I know."

"She wants to marry me, too," Frodo said, hesitant.

Gandalf leaned forward, clapping Frodo's shoulder. "Then I see no reason why you ought not to, Frodo Baggins."

The next day was the coronation. Sev was already standing on the platform designated for the hobbits. Gandalf performed the crowning itself, and soon all bowed to Aragorn as he passed.

Frodo's heart caught when the King met Arwen again. He kissed her intently, lifting her off the ground. He felt Sev at his side, flicking his eyes to her. Her expression was wistful, playful, and a little confused. She had cheered their kiss, and Frodo wondered if she—no. Not now. He bit it back, although it sent thrills through his head to think about kissing her.

"What?" Sev asked, eyeing him with a smirk and an eyebrow cocked.

Frodo paused. "My novel dilemma." Sev wanted to marry him; he knew now what she thought. Hopefully.

Sev gasped. "Aragorn and Arwen?" Then she frowned. "You didn't know them at the time. They couldn't have been your novel dilemma."

He shook his head. The question shoved against his lips; he quieted it.

"Well, then, keep your secrets."

Aragorn approached, and the five hobbits bowed deeply. Aragon shook his head, shocked. "No, my friends!" He laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder, another on Sev's.

"You bow to no one."

Then he bowed to them, along with Arwen . . . and everyone else on the roof of the palace of Minas Tirith.

The hobbits straightened, and Frodo was a little perplexed. Sev seemed confused too. Regardless, she took it, as well as Frodo's hand. She brought it to her face, kissed it gently. Then she smiled at him.

"I guess you did do something pretty awesome," she muttered. He squeezed her hand, smiling back. He wondered what more he could do to ask her, what more he needed. He supposed he would do it when they got home.


	28. You Can Never Go Home

They were fitted with royal robes, and they parted the Fellowship. They were loaned horses from Aragorn, and said farewell to the others. Merry directed them home; Pippin was overly anxious to get back to his schedule of eating. Sev took up the rear more often than not, various expressions crossing her face. Frodo wondered at them. Some were filled with ecstasy; others with malice or sorrow. The adventure was, of course, much to reflect on, even for him.

Frodo insisted she move her things to Bag End. Easier to access from the lawn than her log, he said, and she complied. They entered the Green Dragon tavern for the first time in over a year.

Every time that night he tried to go up and ask her to marry him, the strength slipped from him. He accepted the ale from her, having pushed it thus far before he would ask. But he still didn't.

Sev cocked her head. She could sense something was wrong, he knew it. His face grew heated. He couldn't imagine asking her now. He blinked, all thought having escaped him; his jaw hung open, her name frozen on his tongue.

"Frodo? Are you all right?"

He hesitated. He had no idea how to respond to that, not in circumstances like these.

She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Talk to me afterwards."

Frodo nodded timidly and turned away with the mugs. After. After. He could ask her after. Nothing like ale to keep him standing upright until he worked up the courage to say what he had to say.

When he sat down, he passed the mugs to the other hobbits. The depth of the adventure was written in all of them: the weight of the War, of the Ring, of everything they now knew that no on else could understand. Their mugs clanked together in a toast, and they all drank. It wasn't two seconds before Sam glanced up past Frodo's shoulder. His eyes narrowed with conviction, and he abruptly stood, abandoning them.

Pippin's eyes grew wide. Merry's mouth made an "o". Frodo could only laugh triumphantly as Sam joined Rosie. Oh, the sweetness of it all. At last, dear Sam was taking a step.

Sev entered the scene a few minutes later, taking a seat next to Pippin. She looked perfectly content, perfectly kissable. Frodo blinked and turned his gaze back to the table.

"How's it going?" Pippin asked Sev.

She grinned, glancing at Frodo. "It's going brilliantly."

He didn't think so. For Sam, yes. For Frodo . . . it was plummeting fast. His confidence shattered as he watched her. He couldn't ask.

But he couldn't let her go.

He went home feeling drunk, although he'd barely touched his ale. Sev kissed his cheek and told him to talk to her in the morning, assuming he woke up before noon . . . or so she said. He nodded, dizzied, and stumbled right into bed.

Frodo's wound stabbed at him in the middle of the night. He strained against it, convulsing. Then he shot upright in bed, sweat pouring down his face. He glanced at the window. It wasn't even morning. The sky was still dark.

But he needed Sev.

He raced out to the lawn, his shirt untucked and his vest still on. He raced to the couch, ready to call out her name. But when he saw her . . . he didn't dare say anything.

She was resting peacefully on the couch, her face perfectly lined. He swallowed as he watched her. Frodo couldn't imagine his lack of confidence get in the way of having her, as his family, for the rest of his life. He knelt down beside her, and his hand laid against her cheek. He kissed her forehead; the warmth flooded him, and her face was gentle. She did not move. He kissed the tip of her nose; she remained perfectly still, breathing serenely against the cool air. Frodo brushed his lips against hers, not deeply as he would if she had been conscious. It still became catharsis for him. They were gentle enough.

The warmth settled him, and he knelt back, fingering her cheek. She was still asleep, but laid a hand over his. He kissed her one final time before turning back to go inside. He laid down and slept, full of rest and peace.

He'd ask her to marry him in the morning. He wouldn't abide it any longer. He'd known her for so long, and loved her long enough. It was time.

In the morning she was gone.

Sam told him not to worry. Admittedly, Frodo felt like tearing his hair out. The ring he had found in one of Bilbo's drawers, the green stone surrounded by little silver ones. He'd had it considered for some time, ever since he envisioned asking her.

Frodo turned, shocked, from Sam.

"She said she'd be back soon," Sam said, confused.

"Yes, but where did she go?" Frodo insisted.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, Mr. Frodo." He put a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "It'll be fine, Mr. Frodo. I promise."

Frodo sighed, thanking Sam as he turned back to Bag End. The Morgul wound pricked at him, and he collapsed against the floor right inside the door. His breath heaved in and out as blackness overcame him. His thoughts pleaded to squeeze inside with the darkness, and few barely made it in.

He didn't know when she'd be back.

And Sam didn't either.

Frodo's fingers flew to the ring in his pocket. He fingered it, relaxing only a little bit as he considered that she would be home soon.

For weeks that turned into months, Frodo waited. His wounds grew worse, his mind numb. He helped Sam, mostly. Otherwise he kept to himself. The Shire held nothing for him, not anymore. Neither did life.

Gandalf asked him if he would like to join the Elves, on the last ship to leave Middle Earth. Frodo thought about it, writing madly of his adventures through a book he'd added to Bilbo's. He at first told Gandalf just to wait . . . and then asked him if Sev could go. The Elves refused, and Frodo insisted that he would stay.

He could wait for her.

After nine months, it grew too harsh. He wrote her a letter, furiously scribbling with his pen. He had so much to express; the letter was twelve pages long, using the front and back of all sheets.

Finally he signed his name on the thirteenth. He paused. He was going to write, "Anxiously waiting, Frodo Baggins", but he stopped. He slowed, marking his calligraphy carefully.

 _With love, Frodo Baggins_.

The next day the letter was gone. He searched everywhere for it, but it had vanished. He sighed.

Hopefully Sam and Rosie could keep him enough; he hoped he could become a part of them. Everyone had abandoned him, it felt like. Gandalf was wrapped up in leaving in a few years . . . Bilbo was going too . . . Sam had Rosie, Pippin and Merry were doing who knows what . . . and Sev had simply disappeared. The spider sting gnawed at him, the Morgul stab rendered him unconscious a great deal of the time. Pain became life, and no one—particularly in the Shire—could remotely understand this need to give up, to descend into peace and be done.

These thoughts coursed through his head, growing bitter and then sorrowful, until he heard a rapid knock at the door one month after his letter. He stood, hesitancy marking every step. He opened the door, not daring to look up. The words, "Yes, Sam?" were almost out of his mouth when the warmth flooded him, and Sev leaped into his arms. He staggered; the force and intensity surprised him, but when he recovered, tears flooded his eyes. He grabbed her, held her close.

"Frodo!" She kissed his forehead, and his wound flared, backing away. So did his heart, although it reached out, unlike the Morgul stab. She did not pull back further, rather buried her face against his shoulder. The warmth blossomed there and spread all throughout Frodo, adding a whole new level of gentleness that had not been present before. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Frodo."

"Oh, Sev." He rubbed her back, pulled her off the ground. It was too much, too much to have her back, to hear her voice, to hold her. She filled the gap in his arms that had been eating at him for months. "Sev, it's so good to see you."

He set her down when she pulled away. "So Sam's getting married?"

Frodo nodded, speechless. He reached for the ring in his pocket. Had to ask her.

"That's wonderful!" She beamed, and then her face fell. "I'm sorry, Frodo. I didn't know I was away for more than a month."

Frodo glanced at the floor. He couldn't do it now; he had things to say, things to ask, before a huge question. Now there was too much turmoil. "What were you doing?"

"Talking to an old friend."

 _Willation . . . or Sher._ "Willation?"

"How did you know?"

Frodo paused. She had mentioned him before to him . . . right? He told her that, and she seemed to accept it.

She had arrived in the morning, and she talked to him all day. She stayed all through the night, sitting on the couch. He didn't sit by her; he paced before the fire. He basically told her about his wounds, about his mentality, and he realized it sounded like her, when she had explained the pain before—if not on a quieter scale. She just listened, though, intensely involved. Once in a while she would get overexcited, so proud of him for understanding what she had endured. But she had grown used to it, she said, of the pain. His was relatively new.

And she said in her journal that Frodo was home, that he had changed her. He didn't tell her that, but thought about it often that evening.

She kissed his cheek before she sent him back to bed, and she departed to the lawn. A great weight lifted off his heart that had been there for months. Then he noticed her journal against a side table, and made a note to look at it after Sam's wedding.

Two weeks later, Sam asked him to be the ringbearer at his wedding, then paused. Frodo grinned somewhat wistfully and told him he would. He also told Sev about the book he was writing; her eyes lit up, and she dashed away to read it. She wouldn't have time.

After Sam and Rosie's wedding, Frodo felt that pining to have Sev. When Sam kissed Rosie, he felt the gentleness of Sev's kiss, and wondered how it would feel to kiss her back when she did. He raced home after congratulating Sam, but when he entered Bag End, Sev rushed past him. Her eyes were rimmed with black, and she apologized as she raced away.

He read her journal, which was open and on the desk. The writing looked whiplash, and there were blotches of tears on it. He read it quickly: _I'm dying in three years. I don't want to leave him. Please don't let him be alone. It sounds and looks like it hurts. Please, Willation, don't let me die._

 _But I have to die. Frodo, forgive me. I'll take care of you the rest of my life._

 _I'll miss you. The adventure was everything to me. You are my best friend, and I never would trade anything to say that you made it home safe. Holding you, having you there . . . I will miss that more than anything. Kissing you . . . I can't express my feelings better than in that. I wanted to marry you._

 _Still wish I could. I'll never stop fighting for the good in you; I admire you more than you know, everything you've done. For the world, for the Shire . . . for me. Goodbye, Frodo. I love you._

Frodo sat down, heart crunched with shock. From then on, he locked the doors before he went to bed. Everything haunted him. He agreed immediately to go with the Elves, wrote a letter to Gandalf without delay. They would leave a month before Sev was designated to die.

A month.

He would lose a month with her.

But would lose a lifetime of pain as well.

Was it worth it?

"Yes," he confirmed to himself. Sev's visitations became more intermittent, but once, she collapsed to her knees with him in her arms. He had been musing on leaving . . . and she knocked. He let her in, and she held him as the Morgul poisons pulsed through him. He could feel her heart against his ear, and it raced while her hand caressed the top of his head. She wanted to help, and he knew she could do nothing for it.


	29. Darkness to Take Darkness

A few weeks later he was preparing to leave. Sev had skimmed his book that he finished. She wrote no more in her journal. She would be dying soon. He could see her growing more pained every day. Why she suffered through it for him was beyond his ability to comprehend.

When he climbed in the carriage, never to see the Shire again, he saw her watching him. He beckoned for her, and she climbed in after him. He swallowed. He would miss her so much. She asked what the matter was, and he patted the cushion beside him. She sat down. He knew it would hurt both of them, but he pulled her close beneath his arm. She reached up and felt the tip of his finger. He froze, then relaxed and slipped his opposite hand into her own.

"Sev, I'm going with the Elves," he said gently, glancing down at her.

It was worse than he had anticipated. She looked hurt and betrayed. Her eyes shimmered immediately. "No! Frodo, don't you realize—?" He knew she would disapprove, and she made that evident by pulling hard out of his arms, backing into the cushion as though warning him not to move until he had explained himself.

He reached for her. She couldn't leave him, not now. He still had an hour or two. "Sev, please understand. I told you, my life's purpose has ended. I have nothing to live for but pain now, and you are dying this month."

Her eyebrows narrowed, and her eyes expanded with somewhat hurt suspicion. "How did you—?"

Against his better judgment, Frodo reached into his vest and pulled her journal from within. She just stared at it; she didn't look upset, rather a little epiphanic. He held it out to her, but as she accepted it, he realized he wanted her more than a confession now. He set the book down in her lap and took both of her hands in his own. The warmth thudded with a cooling pulse against his fingers; he rubbed his thumbs across the back of each hand, guarding them. As though he didn't have to let go.

"I started it on the adventure, thinking it a novel," he said. She glanced down at the book, certainly speechless. "But by the time I read the end I understood what it was."

That did not bother her, it seemed. She turned to his eyes. She looked so pale, so weak. He wanted to hold her. But if he did it would hurt all the more when he left. The desire fought his logic, and he knew it would win out eventually.

She shook her head. "How can you give up on life?" she cried. "How can you assume that pain is enough to end your time?!"

Finally Frodo felt ready to say it. He inhaled slowly, his eyes sinking closed and back to open. She had shifted sharply away; now he pulled her back to him. He lifted the thick hair behind her face, then kissed her cheek slowly, gently, deeply, replicating how he felt like touching her generally. Warmth flooded him. "I love you, Sev," he said against her ear; his lips brushed her cheek again as he backed away. "And I won't survive when you're gone. If you were to stay, maybe . . ." He swallowed. The Morgul stab had been eating at him all morning, until she joined him. Life would be that way if she didn't stay. "But the pains are great enough without you."

Tears raced down her face as she surveyed him. "Don't leave me, Frodo."

But he had little choice.

Sev leaned into him, right by his heart, right where he needed her. He held her with one arm. She laid a hand on his chest, eyes clenched closed. He held her hand, comforting her as best he could.

But then, ten minutes later, she backed away from him. Her hand slipped out of his fingers. She shook her head, breathing harder and harder. The black blood rushed to her eyes. She flew out the carriage door.

"Sev!" Frodo cried out. But she was long gone. He sat back. He didn't know why he was leaving her, until he realized she was leaving him too. She may have had no choice, but it would be painful for them both.

Soon Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, and Bilbo joined them, ready to depart for the Grey Havens. When Bilbo settled in beside Frodo, he tried to fill in the void Sev had left. It simply wasn't to be. He would miss her. Not all the loved ones in the world—Gandalf, Bilbo, Galadriel, the Elves—could replace Sev.

Bilbo asked where they were going. Frodo responded that they were going to the harbor, that Bilbo would be going on the last ship.

Then Bilbo eyed him, asking about the Ring.

Frodo froze. "I'm sorry, uncle," he said finally. "I'm afraid I lost it."

Bilbo settled into Frodo's shoulder. "I would have very much liked to hold it again."

Nightmares from the adventure set in . . . as did the sweet kisses and words of Sev. Her smiles. Her hands. Her lips brushing his face when she found him alive again. He blinked, laying his head against Bilbo's.

How long would he miss her before she faded from his mind, from his memory, from his need? He closed his eyes, as though to shut her out, but that only spurred more. When he had been lifted into the crook of her arm, when he had felt that need to tell her he wanted her. When he turned her face with a gentle touch of the finger, and his lips had met hers.

When they reached the Grey Havens, Frodo assisted Bilbo until Sev took him the rest of the way. Sev had already tied her horse and was pacing madly once Bilbo came out. She began tying down the others, then saw to the carriage. She released the horses at the head of that, and glanced wistfully at Frodo.

Frodo approached her as Sam parted with Bilbo down towards the harbor.

"Sev," he said. She stiffened, glancing up at him with slightly hunched shoulders. She righted, however, when he laid a hand against her face. He stroked it with his thumb; if he could have her . . . "I wish I could spend the rest of my life with you." And meant it. The ring was still in his pocket—he would give it to her before he left. And he would kiss her, too. _Really_ kiss her.

She swallowed against his hand. Her lips thinned into a line, and her eyes flickered away from him. "You will. You're dying today, remember?" She turned and followed Bilbo. Frodo walked after her.

Soon, though, she turned.

"There's one more thing I have to say."

His heart leaped.

"I told you there was good in this world, and that it was worth fighting for." She swallowed, laying a hand over his heart. "You are the good I'm fighting for, Frodo Baggins, and I will never stop fighting for you."

Frodo laid a hand on her shoulder, but it did no better for either of them. His fingers roamed her upper arm. She was only making him feel more guilty; but it would only be a month.

Bilbo was shocked to see the Elves, and the harbor. They beckoned, and Galadriel smiled deeply at Frodo as she entered the ship. Bilbo followed. "I think I'm ready for another adventure," he said, escorted on board by Lord Elrond. "The sea calls us home," the Elf had said. Frodo didn't feel that call. The sea wasn't home; Sev was home.

He grabbed Sev's hand. She kissed his, then laid it against her cheek. He held the other side of her face with his opposite hand, and her eyes opened, searching him. He didn't want to leave her, and he knew she didn't want him to leave her, either. His thumb very carefully traced her lower lip, and she leaned into his fingers. He was surprised at the softness of what he felt; he hadn't expected it.

Gandalf stood in front of them. "Farewell," he said, a slightly sorrowful smile coming to his face. Sev released Frodo; the other hobbits immediately began to well with tears. "Do not think it awful to mourn," Gandalf said, "for not all tears are evil." Sev shook his hand before he departed.

Then the dreaded moment arrived. Gandalf slowed, turned, and said, "It's time, Frodo."

The other hobbits turned to him. Sev's eyes welled, and tears poured in three different streaks down her face. Her expression remained stone hard, but that would not last long. Sam asked what he could mean . . . Frodo said he was ready to leave, that the Shire had not been saved for him. He turned to Sev.

"The last pages are for you, Sev." He could see she didn't want to, but he begged her with but a look to keep it.

He embraced Merry, who sniffled as he grabbed Frodo. He released him slowly, moved on to Pippin. He was gentler there, for Pippin was also. Sam sobbed when he hugged Frodo.

Then Frodo turned to Sev. She set the book down, and when he approached she held him hard. He embraced her knowing he would never see her again, and that she would only live another month. She said she had no real soul . . . and that when she died she would not, could not, be with him again. That brought pricks to his own eyes.

He coaxed away, rubbing her shoulders. He tilted her head down with his hand, kissing her forehead. He deepened it and released. Then he stroked her face, staring it up and down.

"Oh, Sev." Her tear-stained eyes caught his gaze first, and then his attention, as well as his very light, careful fingers, flickered to her lips. She knew what he would do, and she leaned forward just slightly, somewhat expectant. Frodo pulled her to him, and his lips met hers, gently but firmly, urgently. He held her face as he claimed her for his own, and the kiss sent shocks of warmth through him. His arms circled her, and her hands traveled up, close to his shoulders. Then, suddenly, the blackness that had been dominating his mind for years now . . . began to mend. He initially leaned deeper into the kiss; he hadn't taken it far, but Sev still buckled a little.

When she broke away, she looked more healthy and full than Frodo had probably ever seen her. Her pulse grew powerful—so much so that he could feel it beneath his arms—and the blood in her eyes became faint purple. Her lips brightened imperceptibly. There was so much weight off of his own heart he felt like he was barely still grounded. He was breathing hard, but easily. Admittedly he wanted to kiss her again, and leaned close to take the opportunity as soon as it came up.

"Frodo, I—," she started, but then Gandalf stepped over to them.

"Let me see your wound, Frodo," Gandalf said, although he sounded like he already knew what was going on.

Frodo lifted his shirt away from where the piercing chill had become so familiar . . . but now did not react to his fingers at all. A white stripe of scar tissue lay perfectly still and painless where his wound had been. The sting from the spider, too; nothing more than a dot of scar. He'd felt and seen those every day of his life for years. Suddenly they were gone.

He glanced up at Gandalf, not quite certain but hope rising through him like a small flame that slowly crackled, growing even as it thrived.

"I think it wise, Frodo," Gandalf said with a smile, "to say that you should stay." He knelt down and laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder.

Then Frodo paused, relaxing his hands off of his shirt. He would still lose Sev in only a month. He glanced her. "But Sev—," he started.

"Will live," Gandalf said. "She has drained a wound that is permanent. She will never run out of blood now, not with that wound coming back enough to keep her alive."

Gandalf backed away, and Frodo could not but watch, a little speechless, as Sev quickly calculated that. She blinked, and then her smile spread. She leaped onto Frodo, throwing her arms around him. Her lips caught his enthusiastically.

He didn't want to let go this time, either, but felt consoled that he would, in fact, be seeing her every day for the rest of his life. Gandalf laughed. Frodo glanced up at him, and the wizard's eyes seemed to say, _Such a sight for tired eyes._

 _And a feeling for a tired heart_ , was Frodo's thought as he pulled Sev's head to his chest, surrounded her shoulders with his arms.

Gandalf turned and joined the Elves on the ship. Galadriel nodded reverently to Frodo as he pulled Sev to his side. They watched the ship sink into the horizon, fade with the white sun.

It evoked memories of the dreams he'd had. While the other hobbits turned back, Frodo tipped Sev's head up with his finger, kissing her gently. He deepened it after only a second, then laid her head down on his shoulder, holding her as tightly as he felt he could. Based on her level of affection she couldn't mind.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, stifling a laugh. It sounded more, though, like she was containing disbelief, amazement—something of that nature rather than humor.

Frodo shook his head, rubbing his thumb over her shoulder. He watched it, followed it across her with his eyes. "I know," he said. "And neither am I."

Her laugh sent chills up his back. The journey home was nothing less than peace for Frodo, with Sev beneath his arm and by his side. In fact, it was probably something more, but he felt a little overwhelmed to put it into words.


	30. After Four Years

The moment Frodo and Sev stepped out, Pippin and Merry were already teasing them relentlessly. Sev turned faint purple, and Frodo realized the gray was gone. He would miss that just a little; not too much. The purple was better.

At Sev's ecstatic request, they celebrated that night at the Green Dragon. The moment the two of them stepped in, Pippin roused the entire tavern. Rosie, who was two months into her third child, didn't help either. She called out once that Frodo ought to kiss Sev, and was quickly met with a sharp, somewhat jocose glare—and dark purple face.

Frodo turned bright red and sat down next to Sam, but he wouldn't help either. He supported Rosie wholeheartedly. Soon it became a tavern-wide chant (although most didn't know what was going on at all, or who they were asking to kiss whom): "Kiss her, kiss her!" Sev was standing behind the counter, trying to look ambivalent. When Frodo stepped up to her, she glanced at him, her expression flickering.

"4 ales, if you would." Sev obliged, her eyes not glancing up. A flush of purple was rising to her cheeks again very quickly, but the onslaught did not halt around them. Finally, when she had turned back with the mugs, Frodo slipped behind the counter, pulled her into his arms, waited a moment for everything to quiet down . . . he surveyed her, felt her racing pulse under his fingers on her shoulders. Now that he knew what her kiss really felt like, the stark purple of her lips against her face had somehow transitioned from terrifying to lovely in a wistful sort of way.

He kissed her very slowly.

The cheering exploded around them. Frodo didn't need to hear it, and hopefully Sev didn't either. When their kiss broke, she abruptly handed him his ales and ducked behind one of the huge barrels. Frodo grinned, a little sheepish. When he sat down with Sam, Pippin and Merry joined them only long enough to grab their mugs. They started singing drinking songs right off. Instruments were picked up, and the tables were soon shoved to the side to make way for dancing. Save a center table, that is, that Pippin and Merry used.

Soon Sam shot to his feet, his eyes wide. Frodo turned . . . and also stood. Rosie and Sev emerged, both dotted in flowers. Sev's hair, for once, was tamed, curled back and pinned behind her head. She smiled at Frodo.

Frodo blinked, uncertain.

Apparently being married didn't help, because Sam was just as awestruck. Rosie pulled him into the dancing. Being one of the only two women in the room, she stood out rather brilliantly amongst the dark colors of the male hobbits' attire.

Sev approached Frodo, and the warmth preceded her. Frodo's heart leaped into his throat; he couldn't move. She held out her hand.

"Come on," she said simply. "Don't give me the whole two-left-feet; I know how you dance."

In short, it was exhausting and amazing. Frodo hadn't danced in such a long time. They ended that night all so tired, any one of them was ready to collapse. Everyone walked home immediately, and Rosie left with Sam two minutes after the ale ran out. Sev and Frodo followed them.

They sent Sam and Rosie back to their own home, and as Frodo ascended the walk, he almost thought Sev was going straight in with him. Then he realized he hadn't married her just yet, and she turned for the lawn.

He might as well propose to her inside.

"Sev," he said. She glanced back at him. "Could you come in for just a moment?"

Sev paused. "Sure." She turned and he followed her back into the door of Bag End. He grabbed the knob to close the door, but then he heard a sniffle emerge from Sev. He glanced up, asked if she was all right.

"I was going to lose you," she said, biting her lip. It was pale with pressure when it emerged, and faded slowly back to its darkness. She collapsed on the couch, staring at the fire. "I guess it just barely hit me, that hard . . ."

Frodo felt a pang of sympathy. He sat down next to her. He knew how that felt, how it would be to lose someone. He laid an arm around her and squeezed just a little bit. She felt restless, and soon she had her arms around him, and he sat limp at her side. His head lay beneath hers.

She kissed the top of his head, and he settled against the cushions. A surge of energy flowed through her hands, and her lips touched his head three more times before she held him closer.

"But you stayed."

He smiled, looking up at her. She had stayed, too. Even if that had been beyond her control, it made him far happier. She cupped his face in her hands, the hands that had healed him. He felt he understood the strange warmth now . . . an odd phenomenon that now seemed so familiar.

"And you also have to go to sleep now," Sev said, kissing his forehead.

Frodo sighed internally. It was about that point, rather late at night. At least she didn't need sleep. He had plans for the morning. The early morning, right when the sun broke the distant horizon. She was too tired now. The morning would be far better.

He walked her back to the lawn, and he asked her what she thought of Rosie now. Sev grinned, said she was much happier, and far more prone to blush at the mere mention of Sam. Frodo laughed, and so did Sev. He wondered how much she would like that, or how much he would. The image of the ring flashed through his mind.

She glanced up at him expectantly. She sat down on the couch, cocking her head.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded and sat on the couch beside her. She just stared at him; he felt certain her gaze flickered to his lips more than once. Perhaps she wouldn't be too tired, leastwise for him to kiss her.

He laid both hands about her face, then very gently and very lightly kissed her forehead. Despite being careful about it, he allowed his lips to stay against her for a long moment before pulling away. She smiled somewhat dizzily at him when he finally released; he gently traced her cheek with his thumb.

"Good night, Frodo," she said.

He wasn't done yet. But she didn't know that. Hopefully she didn't mind if he kept going.

Frodo studied her for a second before he brushed his lips against hers. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when she kissed him back: he felt a tender, warm moment unmarred by departure or publicity or anything at all. And it amazed him. While she didn't seem ready to take the kiss as deep as he wished, he hoped that would come eventually.

Despite this realization, Sev pulled away too soon as it was. Frodo leaned in to keep it going, but gathered she was tired. Besides, he could kiss her all he wanted in the morning. Chances were excellent—or so he hoped—she would be excited enough to let him.

Frodo's eyes roamed her face. "Good night, Sev," he said. He didn't want to leave, but she was right. He needed rest. His fingers stroked her cheek one last time before he turned away.

He walked alone back in to Bag End, but he hoped this would be one of the last times he entered an empty house, or entered one on his own. He glanced around the front room. Thousands of additional books lined the walls, from Sev. Some furniture had been added from where it had sat under her log.

He sat down on the couch and pulled the ring from his pocket. Its stones glittered in the firelight. After four years, he could do it now.


	31. The Understated Sappy Scenes

Frodo slept very little that night. The moment he could see the sunlight ready to crack over the hills, he leaped out of Bag End. He hadn't left the couch, and so he reached hers faster than he might have in actually going to bed. He reached to grab Sev's shoulder . . . but slowed, shaking her carefully. Her eyes flickered open, and he pulled her to her feet.

They raced across the fields of the Shire, to the hill overlooking where the party had been, overlooking where Frodo had met Sev. He turned her to the East, where the sunlight illuminated a blanket of clouds, shooting pink, orange, and golden gradients into the fading night of an awakening dawn.

"Sev, it's another day I didn't think I would see," he said.

She leaned into him. "I didn't think you would, either," she said. She ruffled his hair. "Devil. You running out on me like that." She only sounded a little bitter.

"You were going to first."

"I had no choice." She got right up in his face, eyes wide. Then they both laughed.

Frodo slowed, eyeing her. He had been about to lose her, but no longer now. His fingers traced her face, slowly picking up on her essence, on the proof that she was, indeed, standing there, possibly waiting for him to explain himself with one eyebrow slightly cocked.

The ring slipped into his palm and out of his pocket. Sev's eyes flickered and widened as she studied it, then looked disbelieving back up at him.

"When I said I wanted you to live the rest of your life with me," he said, glancing down at the ring, "I meant it. And you were the one who said, if you were to marry anyone . . ." He didn't finish. Couldn't finish. He wanted her to say it first.

"It would have been you." She laid a hand against his face, kissed his forehead. The warmth flickered through him. "And I absolutely will." Her lips touched his nose; a flood of flutters. "Assuming, of course, that ring is meant as a request."

Frodo slipped the ring over her finger and locked his hand over her own. He brought her lips to brush his, infinitely more powerful than the warmth before. He kissed her once . . . twice . . . three times. He laid her head against his heart as the sun rose on them.

Three weeks, on his 38th birthday. Sev practically vanished under all the preparations, but Frodo didn't feel they were necessary. Apparently Rosie did, so Frodo hardly saw Sev.

When the ceremony was nearly over and he kissed her as lightly and sweetly as Sam had kissed Rosie, he realized he hadn't felt that in weeks, that he hadn't held Sev for a long time. So he deepened it, and she staggered just a little bit with a sharp inhale, shocked, but recovered quickly enough to reply. Cheers erupted, but he dismissed them, lifting her from the ground and spinning with her in his arms.

They raced back to Bag End as soon as night began to fall. Frodo finally got the chance to actually look at Sev without being swamped by other hobbits. He blinked when he realized her dress made her look like a completely different person. Most of her clothes were rather baggy; this was certainly a change.

When they walked inside, however, Sev took off directly for the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Frodo asked, cocking his head. He slipped his arm around her waist, fairly sure she would stay but not wanting to take chances. Besides, he simply wanted to. "I thought you wanted to read in here."

Sev shrugged. "One does not simply read in a wedding dress."

Frodo shook his head. "One does not simply wait for Sev to get out of a wedding dress and into something else." Having been tempted to do it without cause for some time, Frodo lifted her off the floor by her knees and back. The silk of her skirt slid between his fingers as he sat her down on his lap. She ruffled his hair, not looking too chagrined.

Mostly Frodo watched her read, but once in a while she would ask him what on Earth he was thinking . . . usually whenever he kissed her or spoke to her. He felt she was downplaying his thoughts a little bit. But no matter; it did not surprise him.

She did not stay that night. He hoped she would, as he had a lot he needed to say, but he was exhausted. Before she left she told him she loved him, and her lips brushed his cheek. He had been anticipating an actual kiss, and didn't wish for the night to end this way. He turned his head abruptly, and his lips caught hers. It certainly worked; she sat down next to him and brought him up in her arms. He was too exhausted to pull her into his own, and so remained content. Her lips brushed his face a few times, and he did kiss her once more before he would let her go. The next morning he had to go all over the Shire to find her. Once in a while, over the next few months, she would come find him first. He awakened some mornings to hear, back in the merest strips of consciousness replicated in dreams, the door of Bag End creaking cautiously open. Then her lips against his would drag him out of rest. Sometimes he feigned sleep to continue the kiss.

One morning she was impatient to get going.

Frodo had awakened, but didn't get up. Sev would be in any minute, he knew, and he waited there; he could keep a kiss longer if he didn't show signs of awakening. Then heard the door creak, and the warmth already began to flicker through him. But when she came in, he could feel her silent urgency. Her lips met his very carefully, very anxiously, and the moment he kissed her back, she immediately turned for the door.

"No time!" she proclaimed when he gave her a downtrodden, confused look. She closed her eyes; she wanted to do something for him, but felt she couldn't. "Tarrie's birthday! The field must be pre—!"

Frodo shook his head, and she turned back for him, kneeling down next to the bed. "No?"

Frodo shook his head again. She sighed.

"I guess I'm a little anxious. I'm sorry." She barely touched her lips to his again, and moved to turn away, but before she'd gone an inch Frodo surrounded her shoulders with his arms and sealed the gap between them. He sat up, and Sev's cloak bunched beneath her as she collapsed on his lap. Despite her obvious knowledge that there was a time crunch, Frodo didn't want her to care, and so held the kiss for a very long time, long enough to distract her.

When he broke away, Sev's eyes flickered. Admittedly Frodo felt that too; he didn't know how he had managed to stay conscious through that. Perhaps knowing to fall back over would be to let her go. And on mornings like this, days where her stress knew no bounds, that wasn't an option. Sev's voice drawled. She sounded disoriented.

"Remind me to do that every morning," she muttered. He kissed her again, and her hands caught his neck and the back of his head, holding in as tightly as she could.

"My Seville Baggins," was how he addressed her that morning, and in public for some time. She would turn a lovely shade of deep purple; she enjoyed it, he knew. The name sounded right on his own tongue . . . Seville Baggins. And that meant she was family, home.

Some days he was away with Pippin for a long time, and lost track of pretty much everything else in his life when he focused on one thing and not another. He'd come home, expecting to find Sev grumpy on the couch, refusing to kiss him. That only happened twice. The other times, though . . . she would lay the book down on the couch, leap up from her place and kiss every inch of his face, his lips intermittently. Then she held him and babbled about his book, how he had decided to stay, and her lips brushed his periodically as she spoke.

He appreciated that more than he could ever tell her but didn't know if she believed him. The aftermath—her leaving rather abruptly—made those nights somewhat difficult, but he let them alone. He could do nothing to change them, although he did not know why she would stay away so adamantly.

The first night he was aware of her not leaving surprised him. It had been a difficult day for them all; Sev had come home from the Gamgees, pale and shaking. Frodo immediately, as she attempted to explain herself, took off to find Sam. Frodo learned Rosie had just given birth three months too early to a small girl she had intended to name Seville, in honor of Sev Baggins. Sev was convinced she could have healed the little thing, and Frodo was too; but Sam didn't understand it, and therefore buried the little girl before anything could be done. Despite his uniquely adamant stance against Sev's healing, the loss had hurt Sam.

Frodo remained comforting Sam the rest of the day. But as night wore on and the Gamgee family attempted to find rest, Frodo realized Sev had been present for the entire birth, had known of the naming, had held the girl before she passed away—hence knowing the blue of the child's face and the halting of her lungs could have ceased at Sev's hand. Had held the sobbing Rosie for three hours before coming to find Frodo. Had, according to Rosie, been wishing for Frodo to come, but he would not, so she went to get him on Sam's behalf.

Immediately when Sam let him go Frodo tore across the Shire, back to Bag End. He slowed as he approached the door. He realized Sev wouldn't be there; Sev didn't stay at night. He hesitantly reasoned he would have to find her in the morning. The darkness would conceal her too well.

As he approached the front door, Frodo glanced back into the chilly midnight air. He wistfully surveyed the empty blackness and wondered why she would leave the warmth and light of Bag End every night for the dark space out there. He only hoped she would come back.

As the door clicked shut behind him, however, Frodo turned and saw Sev standing before the fireplace, her back to him. She turned to him, looking a little surprised. He wondered if she even knew he had been to the Gamgees'; potentially she had no idea. Regardless, he was happy to see her.

He half expected her to run to him and break down. In fact, he anticipated it: holding her, comforting her, not letting her leave him. But she did nothing. Sev seemed at a loss for words, so he spoke first.

"I thought you were gone," he said initially, unsure how else to start. So many questions, so much he wanted her to say.

"And I thought you were here," she said, glancing at the bedroom. Then she looked at the floor. Her voice lowered, grew far more solemn. She faced the fire. "You've heard about Rosie?"

He nodded. "I was just there," he said. "I told Sam you might have been able to help, but he told me nothing could be done." Frodo also hadn't known how much Sev would have been willing to tell Sam, so he didn't explain fully.

Sev's countenance fell. "He told me the same." So she had disclosed anything she felt necessary. At the slight epiphany in Sam's expression when Frodo began to relate that Sev could heal virtually everything, Frodo realized he had explained more than she had. But this thought fell away as Frodo surveyed her. Her eyes flickered, and her arms—wrapped hard around her—began to twitch. She wouldn't look up. Frodo stepped toward her cautiously until only a gap of a few inches lay between them.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" he asked. Sev's head turned slightly, but her eyes still looked to the ground. They slipped shut.

She nodded. "Yes. Very much." Frodo could only imagine what she had seen, what she wished she could have done. Regardless, she stood too stiff to be relaxed, or to be all right. Frodo laid a hand on her shoulder . . . and then noticed her a little bit. Suddenly the logic of the moment muddled until it receded somewhat in his mind. His fingers traveled her shoulder, and his gaze followed them across her upper arm. He rubbed at it with his thumb; he had never considered her arms before, just now began to wonder what it was like to merely touch them. His curiosity settled.

He wondered, as he had never done it, what it would be like just to hold her. Not anything more, not anything deeper, just to embrace her without giving her the obligation to embrace him back. His other hand met her opposite shoulder, and she stiffened even more. The girl needed to relax. He laid his hands against her waist, and her arms slipped away from her sides. He held her to him, and she angled away so her head could lay against his shoulder. He bent forward, allowing his face to rest by her own.

After a moment she began to tremble. Frodo paused. "Sev?"

Her head shifted. He didn't let her go, but she turned around to face him, and now his arms surrounded her back. Her palms laid flat against his shoulders. She wouldn't stop shaking; she couldn't be cold, so he wondered what was going on. His embrace initially tightened, usure what more he could possibly do.

"Yes?" Her eyes would not meet his.

His curiosity seemed to poke a little bit more, and he lifted his hands up her back, and they settled on her shoulders. His fingers wrapped around the folds of her vest, pulling her forehead to meet his own. She was still shaking. "You're shivering," he said finally, hoping she would tell him what was going on.

She shook her head, and he pulled away. She had to know she was trembling. Finally her whisper broke through: "Frodo, I'm frightened." Frodo hesitated. She looked so afraid; somewhat adorable, but definitely afraid. Her throat caught, but then she continued, her gaze flickering around. "Rosie has lost one. I guess I'm just reminded that—," She stopped again, swallowing. She bit her lip, then plunged into it. "That someday I'm going to lose you too."

Finally he understood. Frodo searched her eyes, recognizing the sorrow overwhelming them. "Oh, Sev . . ." He embraced her. He knew she didn't want him to leave her. But he couldn't let her go, even after dying. He rubbed her shoulders, almost relishing in the fact that they were still young, that they still had time. "You have me for now," he said, although had he been saying it simply he would have switched their roles. He thought, _I have you for now_ , although why it came out differently he didn't know. "I'll be here for you, I promise."

She swallowed against his shoulder. "Only for so long."

No. He wouldn't let it go like that. He pulled away and held her face as gently as he could. Tears flowed from her eyes, and he caught them. "No," he said. "I'll never leave you. We'll figure it out, Sev. You'll die with me."

He felt as though it were only wishful thinking, but something changed in her eyes, a hope that he knew had been ecstasy to launch within another person. He brushed his lips against hers, but deepened it as he realized he couldn't hold back for long at once. He held her even as he kissed her, but pulled her into a simple, tight embrace when he felt the need to breathe again.

"I'll always love you, Sev," he insisted. He didn't know how to make it work; he didn't know how to change anything. But he knew that, even if she didn't make it beyond death—the thought made him wince a little—he would never stop loving her.

"I love you too," she said, although it sounded more like a hopeful sigh. Her hands rubbed across his back. She settled into his arms. "And I'll never stop fighting for you." Her fingers gripped his shirt, holding him to her even harder.

She left for the lawn that night, but at least he knew she was safe.

When birthdays came around, Frodo considered it for the two of them. They danced often, and Sev had a low voice, convenient for duets and things, so they sang. Nights at the Green Dragon grew even more exciting for Frodo, unless Sev was gone to help Rosie with her family. At the Green Dragon, Rosie soon asked Sev (with her consent) when she would start a family. Frodo turned away, not minding as he had told Sev that would be her decision, to let him know when she felt ready. Then he heard something that halted him.

"I can't have children, Rosie."

He asked her about it the moment they arrived back at Bag End. He sat her solemnly down on the couch, but she soon assumed a somewhat casual—if not anxious—air and looped his arm over her shoulders. She curled up in a ball, her legs tucked against her on the cushion.

Sev shrugged. "I'm an anti-creature, Frodo. I'm not completely normal; my blood is still black. Ish." She blew a raspberry, but he could see the despair in her eyes straining not to become obvious. "I wasn't designed to have a family." Then she kissed his cheek, his forehead, his nose. It numbed him from searching her, if only for a second. "You're all the family I will have, and I will not ask for more." Even as he tried to ask her how she could contradict herself so, her lips met his, gently and faintly. The thought of no children was weakening her. He was too stunned to return the kiss more than she had given it. "Because I know I can't."

That night she insisted that she sleep on the floor. Or, at least, Frodo assumed she was asleep. Then he heard her choke, and he sat upright. He knelt down on the carpet, feeling her face. Tears stained it, shocking him as they dampened against his fingers. She hurried to throw them off, but he already knew. He brought her to her feet. He was afraid she would protest, but she didn't. She sounded like she didn't know what to think. As he took her hand and brought her up, the only word that escaped her was frail, and pricked his heart even she said it: "Frodo . . ." As they walked in to the main room, she slowed. She lifted his hand and kissed it slowly.

For the rest of that night they sat, awake, on the couch. She knelt, curled in a ball, under his arm. He tried to console her, but had no words. She laid a hand on his heart, rubbing to calm herself. She bit her lips closed and swallowed a few times, moving little else.

"We can try, at least," he said hopefully. "Something might have changed."

Sev swallowed again. "All right." She didn't believe him.

He kissed her forehead, her cheek. He laid his face against hers. The warmth flickered like a candle in a storm, fading intermittently. "I still love you, Sev."

"I love you too." She looked so naïve, and so hurt . . . as well as a little distanced. He laid his other arm around her shoulders. He lowered his lips to meet hers—nothing more than sorrow and remorse flowed from her. But, if anything, her mood transitioned just a little bit.

She pulled away long enough to speak, although her head was just an eighth inch away; he could feel her move. "Thank you, Frodo. I could never ask for a more wonderful friend."

His hand slid around her neck and he quickly closed the gap between them. Gratitude mixed with her remorse now as his hand traveled, cupping her cheek. He lifted away, tilted his head the other way, pressed his lips to hers again.

Every morning for years, whether she left for the night or not, she always had a broken spirit to her. Frodo felt only a little guilty; at least he hoped she would eventually be able to have a family. She wanted one so badly.

Every morning he would ask her what she thought. She kissed him, then shook her head. "It's no use, Frodo. I can't." On particularly exasperated mornings: "We've done all we can, and more. I've written letters to Sher, even, begging her to do something." She'd shake her head, sink onto the couch. "It's not possible, Frodo." He'd pull her to him; her head would rest limply on his shoulder. "It's not possible." He would kiss her, again and again until the light returned to her eyes.

"You never stopped caring, did you?" Tears welled in her eyes.

"It doesn't bother me." He shrugged. "I'm just glad to spend the rest of my life with you."

She buried her face against his heart. His shirt bunched at her forehead. He could feel tears through the fabric. "I am too. I wouldn't survive without you." Then she cackled, and Frodo trembled, trying not to laugh. "Literally speaking, that is." Her mood only rose from there, and she began rambling endlessly. After getting some of her soul out, she fell quiet and content, sighing regularly while Frodo stroked her head.

Frodo quickly learned that Sev had such a bookish outlook that she would create scenarios of it for herself . . . some of them, most of them, were to his advantage in some way, he quickly learned. A few involved her isolating herself, and those were hard. He couldn't find her for up to hours at a time, when she felt the need to climb a huge hill and think for a while.

Others—others were different. There were moments, if he could get her in the stars or rain or snow, that she wouldn't stop smiling, or wouldn't stop joking, or wouldn't stop getting excited over every little miraculous flake that fell from the sky. He couldn't help but dance with her in those moments. Then, if the mood was right, they would laugh . . . and then she would lay a gentle hand over his shirt, feel for his heart, and kiss him with all the sincerity of love she had.

One night she had stayed on the lawn. Frodo stepped outside to find her, feeling rather tired and hoping she'd come in. Then he paused. She was pointing at stars, cocking her head, rolling over excitedly.

He settled onto the grass, the top of his head against hers as he laid in the opposite direction.

"Well, Sev?"

Her head turned. "Well, what?"

"Are you coming in?"

She paused. "I don't know. It's not every night Frodo stays up late enough to let me just sit out here during the summer and look at all this." Then she snickered. "He ought not to feel guilty. Sev likes kissing him before he's asleep."

"And to wake him up."

She rolled, shifting until she laid two feet away, but positioned in the same direction as Frodo. "Devil. Spying on a girl and her husband like that; you should be ashamed of yourself."

Frodo shook his head. "You can't possibly feel any better for knowing all of her feelings. And telling her husband exactly what they are."

Sev's eyes widened, jocose, and she glanced at him. "Oh, I haven't said all of them."

One of his eyebrows lifted as a smirk grew on her face.

"I have many secrets of her feelings," Sev said, whispering loudly. She beckoned with a hand, and Frodo rolled, leaning closer. "She likes him a lot," Sev continued in her whisper. "In fact, they say that's why she married him."

"Is he really so bad as that? That Sev would have to like him to marry him?"

"I hear tell he's a devil. Just like you are; how interesting is that?" She sidled within inches of him. They faced each other, laughter bubbling but not quite surfaced. Finally it broke out, and they chuckled just a little bit before Frodo paused, eyeing her face. He knew every inch of it now, had it memorized. He could close his eyes and see it, could dream and feel her gaze, her kiss.

"So I'm a devil, just like him," Frodo said, his voice lowering. He propped himself up on his elbow. Sev's eyes flickered as his hand carefully caressed her cheek. His face approached, within inches of her own. "And you're just like her. So I'll tell you . . ." He kissed her forehead. "That I think . . ." Each cheek, in turn, very carefully; the warmth flickered through him. ". . . Frodo likes her too." Not even inches anymore; distance that couldn't even be measured for eternity or shortness of length separated her lips from his. "And I know he loves her. More than anything."

She backed away just slightly even as his lips would have met hers. He knew she had something to say, but gathered he wouldn't interrupt her if all he did was kiss the rest of her face, and so he did while he listened. "Aww," she said, holding back all the sincerity he knew could dump itself out. "That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard." He pulled back to watch her eyes; her fingers traced his jaw. "A good thing she loves him too." Her eyebrows waggled. "More than anything."

Frodo lifted her into his arms and kissed her very deeply. Finally, when it broke initially, she buried her face against his chest.

"You are my home, Frodo Baggins," she said, glancing back up at him. "I want to grow old and die with you. Troneterra, I want to be with you _after_ I die." Then she smiled, and before Frodo could kiss her again, she had slipped out of his arms and raced away. He'd felt her pulse rising in her arms and face; overexcitement was taking her, as it always did.

The moment Sev was out of sight, Frodo went back to Bag End alone, and didn't necessarily feel the worse for it, assuming he was as tired as he thought. She'd be back in the morning, he knew, although something stirred within him. Something somewhat old, something that refused to die down regardless of how much time passed. He thought sleep would never come. And he never felt it, either.

As he began to drift off, though, he found the world turning sharply black and white. A white sun illuminated his bed from the window nearby, and everything beyond the bedside was shadow.

A strong hand laid against his face. He froze. It could have been Bilbo's, a few decades before. That was exactly what it felt like, but Frodo was not that young anymore, and neither was Bilbo, who had gone. Frodo didn't want to see who the hand belonged to. He glanced up despite himself, following the hand up its arm, to Smeagol's face. It was from when Smeagol himself was one of the River Folk, not when the Ring had claimed him. He looked wistful, as though Frodo could do something about it. As though Frodo had truly mattered to him.

Sharp pangs of guilt, remorse, regret, and almost anger at himself stabbed Frodo, and the Morgul blade ignited. Smeagol's hand lifted, and the back of it settled against the opposite side of Frodo's face, down to his neck. The Morgul wound shrieked and writhed, and Frodo sat upright. The world had not gone back to normal, however; a hand shielded with warmth grazed his shoulders, rubbing gently. Then its fingers flicked through his hair. He spun around. The face was hazy. He could make nothing out.

He grabbed the hand, looking over it again and again. It seemed so familiar, so gentle, and so warm. Certainly not Smeagol's; these fingers were tender, relaxed, a little thin. He paused as the world faded into its average colors, but the hand stayed.

Sev's face appeared through the haze of sleep. He relaxed, and her hand left his to lay against his cheek. His wounds pulsed, ready to be drained again, but Frodo thought it wouldn't be the best way to thank her. Besides, he felt the need to express, to claim Sev for his own, coming. And he didn't want to halt it, didn't need to.

He turned his face and kissed her palm. The warmth flooded him, and the wounds receded only by the smallest of increments. This would take some time, and he looked forward to it just a little. He lowered her hand from his face with both of his own, brushing his lips against the back of her hand, her knuckles, her fingers. The wounds visibly pulled away, but he did his best to ignore them.

Frodo lifted his hand, and his finger caught her jaw. Her eyes slid closed; at least he knew she liked it somewhat as much as he did. He kissed her cheek very carefully, and then lowered her head, which slacked against his finger. He kissed her forehead also before lifting her face to look at him. Her eyes flickered, and their lips touched, brushed and separated for a defined moment again and again until she let a longer kiss to him. Thinking about it so much took his breath away, her lips against his, and for a second he broke away just to breathe before claiming her again. He never wanted to let go.

Then they simply embraced, although it was more than simple for Frodo. His head laid easily on her shoulder, and his hand traced across her back, holding her. She would not leave him, but he somehow had to assure himself that he was the one keeping her, that she was his.

"Are you all right?" she said finally.

Frodo sighed just a little. "Smeagol has not left yet," was what he decided to say. He could have said so much, but he felt the kisses said enough. Hopefully. Perhaps they weren't sufficient, but that was something not to be asked.

Sev pulled away slowly, glancing up into his eyes. She surveyed his face, and her gentle fingers traced his forehead, down the side of his face, onto his heart . . . directly to the Morgul wound. At her fingertips the blackness vanished, and a surge of energy flowed through Frodo's core. The moment the wound sealed back into a white scar, she pressed her palm against it. Frodo settled beneath the warmth. "Neither have I," she said.

And he knew that. But it hit him harder than he could ever tell her it had, and he knew what to use should words fail him.

Frodo cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again. He gradually pulled her closer, and the kiss deepened. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her as protectively, as tightly, as he dared.

A few days later, on a rainy day, she was feeling rather energetic. When he came home Frodo found her dancing excitedly in the rain, and she urged him to come join her. Sam, Rosie, and their four children arrived as well, Pippin with Diamond (they were only courting at that time), and Merry with a group from the Green Dragon. Sev sang brightly with Pippin and Merry. Eventually Frodo joined in, and they danced excitedly as long as they could stand.

Soon, though, they were all drenched, and Sev teetered towards the door. Frodo stayed close to her, and dried off relatively quickly until she left to switch into drier clothes. He still had a little water left on his legs, but paid it no mind.

When the sun set, the rain slowed to a powdery drizzle. Frodo walked back into the front room . . . and Sev was still there. She was rubbing her neck, and her eyes seemed to prick. He cocked his head.

"Sev?"

She jolted and glanced up. She shook her head once she settled. Then she rubbed her fingers against her neck, and she hissed in pain. Frodo's eyebrow shot up. "It's nothing." Then she hurried to correct herself. "To worry about, that is. Just the adventure. I've been thinking about it a little bit."

Frodo sat down on the couch opposite her. Her hand tensed about her neck. He lifted his own and pulled her hand down from her neck simply to hold it, wondering if she'd been thinking about Gollum—when he had tried to strangle her. But then his eyes flickered; he hadn't been expecting what he saw. A black, ring-shaped scar, outlined by flaming, red flesh, lay just beneath her jaw. The blood had crusted over and now visibly throbbed. Once in a while the black scab would flake away, replaced by blots of shining, purple blood. Frodo's brow creased, and his hand left the couch, gently tipping her jaw out of the way. His last finger met her scar. The wet blood receded beneath his fingers, and her skin tried in vain to mend at his touch. In a word, it looked horrible, and he didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before.

"What happened?"

Sev shook her head. "Just the Ring." Her voice quivered. She wouldn't relax.

One couldn't say "just the Ring", particularly not like that. He glanced up at her, lowering his hand from her face. She did not move. He gently traced the circle with his middle finger. The skin he felt was gentle; the scab was sharp, its segments of dry blood pointed and pricking. Dark liquid imprinted on his fingers when he pulled them away to inspect them. "Sev, it looks awful," he said finally. Crusted blood crumbled at his touch. As a flood of liquid came to replace what was gone, Sev winced. Frodo moved to hold her . . . but then an epiphany struck him, and his brow furrowed. "Does it hurt?"

She shrugged. She wouldn't look at him. Yep; it hurt, for sure.

"Sev . . ."

She flicked her eyes at him. "Yes, all the time." The words rushed desperately out of her mouth. "I promise, I don't need you to—,"

It was as though she feared he did not care. He did care, though, and apparently he had to prove it. She inhaled sharply as he pulled her to him. She curled up defensively, but he proceeded, and her ear laid against his chest. She would not relax. She was trying to pull away.

"I'm sorry," he said, referring only to the Ring. Sev swallowed. He lifted her face, dotting it with careful, light kisses, wishing he could put it into words. Frodo's lips brushed hers last of all, and he pulled her back into his arms. His fingers threaded through her hair. He could feel her heart pounding.

Then, by some miracle, she settled. She'd never been relaxed when he held her for sympathy; this was new. And he liked it a little bit, in somewhat of a bittersweet way. He unfolded, and her head rolled into his lap. He circled her waist with one arm, stroked her hair with the other, until they were both asleep.

In the morning, before her eyes opened and the deep swells of her lungs calmed, he lowered his lips to her ear. "I love you, Sev." When she awakened at last, her eyes flickered, and she yawned. She blinked, utterly disoriented. Her head slumped against his knee and her arm dangled over the side. He chuckled when her fingers tapped his toe; her face bent in confusion, and she abruptly pulled back.

"You'll have to get up first," she muttered. She turned over to glance up at him, and Frodo's arm settled over her waist. He laid his hand against her opposite shoulder, and her eyes crossed. "Because I'm not awake yet. Go ahead and leave me if you want; I'm staying here. I'm just so tired."

He glanced at the scar on her neck, and he thumbed it again carefully, biting his lower lip. Exhaustion was a huge issue for her, and he knew it caused her problems. Especially when she thought she was alone in it. Something about perfectionism. His fingers traced her lips, which shifted beneath his touch; her eyes drifted.

He kissed her forehead. Initially his lips were light, but after a moment a surge of need, a desire to make her feel wanted, pushed them deeper. She moaned questioningly, obviously still a little confused. He let his lips down lightly on various areas of her face: the cheeks sometimes, her eyelids, her nose.

"I'm awake," she muttered under her breath, as though hesitant to mention it. He backed away for a second as he waited for a response.

Sev's eyes flickered open. "I wouldn't mind, certainly, if you kept going." They slid back shut. "I'd kiss you if I thought I could get up, but—,"

That was all the invitation he needed. She cut herself off when Frodo sat her up on his lap, her back resting against his arm. He brought her head to lay close to his shoulder; she glanced up at him hopefully. He lifted her very carefully with one hand to the back of her neck and brushed his lips against hers. She caught his head and neck with her hands, staying upright and deepening it.

He held her after a moment. Her forehead laid against his shoulder.

"Thanks, Frodo," she said. She didn't sound formal or romantic . . . exactly how she was, exactly how they both liked it. Then she snickered, mischief growing in her voice. "I like kissing you; did you know that?"

One of his eyebrows shot up. He had no idea where she was going with this. "Indeed . . ." he said, urging her on.

She pulled back. There were tears in her eyes, and Frodo cocked his head. Her fingers graced his temple, tracing his hair down past his ear.

"I hope you know that. Because that's really all I'll ever need." Her lips brushed against his, and she laid her forehead down against his chest.

She was quiet for a moment. "Of course, if I don't get up and do something I might go crazy."

Frodo glanced down. His thumb stroked her cheek. "I thought you told me you already were crazy."

She shrugged. "And you married me anyway. How does that work?" Sev glanced up, pulling back. "I guess you really are cracked." She ruffled his hair. "You devil."

He studied her for a long moment. Yes, cracked. Very cracked. He traced her lips with his fingers, felt the relative gentleness there that he wanted against his own. He already knew what it felt like; unlike at the Grey Havens he didn't have to guess. His lips brushed and caught hers again, rather spontaneously, apparently, because she jolted when he did. He admitted to himself it was rather deeply done, and when she pulled away, her eyes crossed.

"Yep. Cracked devil." She stood, teetering for a second. Then she held out a hand.

"Come on. That rain isn't going to dance in itself."

Some time later, Frodo returned from visiting Sam. Pippin had stolen him some mushrooms in congratulations for Rosie having given birth to two male twins, and Frodo just laughed when Sam accepted them, blanching at Pippin's mischief. Then Merry had brought a bag of potatoes, and Sam looked about ready to black out.

Frodo entered the door laughing. Then he spotted Sev, who was smirking . . . smirking so deeply she looked about ready to explode. He lifted an eyebrow; this had better be good. She only did that when she was proud of herself. Or ready to scare the living daylights out of him. Preferably both. He approached her, but her smile, purple and sinister as it looked, was just too tempting. He pressed his lips to that smile, and she kissed him back. One of her hands laid on her stomach; he laid one above it. Then he noticed a letter on the desk, from Sher. With many exclamation points.

"Sev?"

"You have a sweet face." She smirked again.

And she was stalling. "Sev . . ."

"I wonder if we had a little Frodo . . ."

Frodo frowned thoughtfully. What was that supposed to mean? "Little Frodo?"

Sev laughed nervously, and his brow furrowed. "Well, Sheratan says it'll be a boy, so I'd assume he'd look like you—,"

This was ultimately shocking . . . but surged Frodo with such an overwhelming feeling as he realized what the hand on her stomach meant; somehow Sev had been wrong. They could have a family. A big one, just like she wanted. He gasped, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her high. She laughed, and he set her down, kissing her face wherever he could. He then brushed his lips to hers multiple times, finally catching them enthusiastically. She wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened it.

He held her tighter, and the kiss lasted long. He had his Sev.


	32. Bonus: Will Baggins

**Lots of chapters; I figured I might as well get the uploading out of the way and actually write something! XD I love reviews if you have them, because heck, I can always improve and I like to hear from you guys, even if I don't find time to respond. :)**

Leastwise, he had her a little longer than he might have in earlier circumstances. Nothing for struggles, save the emotional burden of perhaps never having a family, resolved. Even when something did go right, it seemed to leave behind permanent and horribly painful scars. But for the time being everything seemed wonderful as Frodo and Sev raced to the Green Dragon the night after Sheratan's letter arrived.

Sev slipped away from Frodo to tell Rosie it could at least happen; no one else in the entire Shire could understand how Sev would know so early along. Frodo stepped up to Sam and confided that he was fairly sure he'd be a father at some point soon.

Sam clapped his shoulder, although Frodo was more certain of his statement than Sam would ever know. "At last, Mr. Frodo!" Then he paused. "Mr. Frodo, there are some things I've learned about being a father, and—well . . ."

Frodo nodded. "Go ahead, Sam."

Sam inhaled and exhaled again, launching into explanation about how Rosie had become significantly more fragile. He warned mostly that Sev ought not to leave Bag End alone, much less at night. Frodo felt hope swelling within him. At last, a reason for Sev to stay long-term. The nights she would stay at home with him were so intermittent; they let him have something to look forward to, but they were so fleeting.

He and Sam talked for so long, Sev had walked out the door before they were even half finished. Sam let him go early, saying he'd tell Frodo more as Sev grew farther along. Frodo slipped out of the Green Dragon, but Sev had not gone far, still walking up the road to Bag End.

"Sev?" he called out. Sam had said she needed to rest for the most part; he said as early on in the process as possible would help later. He trotted up to her side, but she continued walking rather briskly.

"Yes, Frodo?"

He put his arm around her shoulders, but her conviction pulled her with him. He had to dig his heels a little bit to bring her to a halt. She turned to look at him.

"Sam says you shouldn't be walking," Frodo admitted. She wouldn't want it, but Frodo had no doubt she wanted as little trouble at the birth as possible. She had expressed fear for the process.

Sev nodded, closing her eyes as she began to calculate. She glanced down at the ground after she finished. "Well, I can't sleep here." Her voice dripped heavy with sarcasm as she gestured to the stony road below her. "I guess I slept on a couch for ten years."

She bent down to lie there, but Frodo kept his arm around her shoulders. He chuckled. "No." Partially he had taken in Sam's advice about walking because he actually anticipated carrying Sev around, so he reached forward to do so. He slipped his free arm under her knees, bringing her up to his shoulders. She stiffened a little bit, probably not trusting being about three feet off the ground. The warmth from her flooded him, and although the day was not cold the standard spring air quickly departed and made room for her comfortable fireside glow.

Sev felt a little distanced as they ascended the steps into Bag End, and Frodo remembered Pippin telling him when you stopped supporting a woman they would support themselves, and resultantly touch you more. Frodo didn't know that Sam would approve of this standard of initiative while Sev was pregnant, but Frodo rationalized Sev would approve wholeheartedly. Women enjoyed it, Pippin said, so Frodo decided he might as well go forward with it.

He allowed his grip to slacken slightly, let his steps grow more irregular. Pippin had been right; while Sev's arms were already around his shoulders, she gripped him hard just to stay upright. Her face grew closer to his own, and he could see her eyes flicker to the ground as he shifted around.

"Are you drunk?" Her voice escalated a little bit. He felt somewhat guilty for alarming her, but she had berated herself for less.

He laughed, actually enjoying himself a little bit. "No." She hadn't been so close to him for some time unless it became necessary. It had been perhaps eight months since he discovered her scar, and then the moments when he could actually hold her were so few and far between: the lack of ability to have children made her restless, and she rarely stayed home since the day of the scar.

"You're trying to drop me on purpose!" Sev glared, eyeing his swaying feet. She gripped him harder despite that, shivering in his arms.

Frodo continued to rationalize. "Well, it's working." His arms slacked almost completely, and Sev let out a squawk. She sidled up tightly against him, her cheek accidentally meeting his own. He finally fine-tuned his grip, and she could not budge away from him. He felt a small stroke of triumph.

"You devil," she grumbled, but he could feel her straining against a grin.

"And you seem to like it," he said, testing the waters a little bit, "so I anticipate this will happen often when you are physically capable."

She gawked, pulling away to look at him. "Since when did you have this mischievous streak? Attitude, my dear Frodo, you truly are drunk!"

Frodo shook his head. "Something Pippin recommended. He said we don't touch enough." _And I think the same._

Sev snickered, and Frodo felt a little snip of worry within him. "Well, what does he know?" His heart sank until she spoke again, nestling into his arms. Her head laid against his shoulder, and he could feel his pulse rising anticipatorily. "But he's right. We don't." Then she peered over at the ground. "Although, perhaps other methods will have to be found once I have a sufficiently larger-than-present second person growing in me."

Frodo anticipated finding a way if she would accept it. He stopped before the door, not wanting to set her down. He didn't know how often she would let him do something like this, so he determined not to let go until one of them felt ready. Sev released his neck, but he didn't want to feel her slip away so quickly. He reached to open the door as well, but Sev shook her head. "I've got it, I promise," she said. "You carried me up."

As if that bothered him. His hand settled over hers on the knob; the door opened from the efforts of both of them. "But you are also pregnant, Sev." Then the reality of what he'd just said hit him that hard . . . she had a little one. Some form of normalcy suddenly belonged to them, something Frodo could count on. He remembered her tears that night when she'd told Rosie she couldn't have children at all. He watched her, noting the cheerful light behind her eyes despite all the darkness she felt without reservation or change. "Indeed you are," he muttered, studying her face. She finally looked back at him, and her eyes caught his.

He could feel the need to kiss her building up within him, and he dared not hold it back. He allowed his lips to touch hers lightly, and tingles illuminated his head. He pecked her nose, then let his eyes open to search her. She seemed accepting enough, so he continued. Her face was soft as his lips claimed her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw. He allowed his affection to trickle out, never wanting these moments to end and desiring to be gentle above anything. He could certainly express more intensely, but she would not want it. Her hand wrapped around the back of his neck, the only thing she could probably do to assure reciprocation at this point.

"Frodo, you're going to drop me." Her voice came out a low murmur, tickling his cheek. He realized he had almost dropped her, but knew had she slipped away he would have begun to notice.

He pulled back and faintly rubbed his cheek against hers, taking her in as he stepped into Bag End. "No, I'm fairly sure I wouldn't." He lifted away from her, then continued, brushing his lips over her face, claiming and holding what he felt necessary.

"And I'm fairly sure you're losing your concentration." Finally Frodo internally conceded that perhaps he would drop her, and he could feel his legs shivering beneath him. He needed to sit down. Sev squirmed in his arms, trying to keep away from the ground. He pulled away and solidified his hold. "Seriously, though," she continued, "there is no way you can keep standing up."

At this point, he almost didn't care. Almost being for sake of the fact that neither he nor she would be happy to hear both of them thud against the floor. But he thought it justified to prove he could stay standing, so he brushed his lips against hers. Apparently it took her aback, for an escalating sound—quiet though it was—built up in the back of her throat as she kissed him back. The affection he at last felt from her spread throughout his entire being, and his arms tightened around her. Her fingers traveled through his hair, rubbing gently against his head. Frodo felt a slight streak of triumph as he maintained the kiss, setting her down on the couch nearby without letting go. She backed into the furniture, probably not a conscious action, but his lips maintained hers easily.

He pulled out of the kiss reluctantly. Her dizzied expression reflected what he felt rather accurately. He didn't understand how a simple kiss could impact him so much after so long, but it somehow managed to sweep him away every time. Frodo reached up to trace the hair out of her face, but then realized the hand he'd almost used had a missing finger. He lifted his opposite hand to do it.

Sev shook her head, but he leaned in to kiss her again. This was a simple pull, a slight linger as he pulled away.

"Frodo," she muttered.

"Hmm?" He kissed her cheek and sat down by her side. He moved to grab her hand, but she caught his first . . . the one Gollum had bit from. He paused, somewhat curious at her reaction.

She snickered a little bit, and then her gaze grew sharp and protective. One of Frodo's eyebrows lifted as he watched her. She eyed his hand carefully, traced the uneven flesh where the bite mark remained, as though the hand were some crystal she found in a cave and would never let go. He had no idea what she could be thinking.

He jolted when her lips gently lingered against his fingertip; she kissed it multiple times, and he relaxed with the shivers that raced up his arm. "You can't hide the best things about you," she pointed out.

He smiled, but then considered that it was growing late: any minute she would kiss him for the last time and leave, not to return until morning. Assuming nothing dangerous got in the way and she as well as the little one within her actually survived the night.

"Sev, I've been meaning to bring something up," he started.

He thought it might not have been the best way to introduce the subject when she stared up at him worriedly. He settled—she must have been jocose—as she held his hand protectively, pulling it into her lap. "You can't have it back, Frodo, if that's what you're asking," she said, resolved in her statement. Then she held his hand to her heart. "It's mine now."

Frodo laughed . . . and heat rose to his face as she laid his fingers over her neck where she kept them. "Oh, Sev, it's all right," he said. Then he paused, ready to launch into what he thought logic. "You may not like it, but you are, according to Sam, going to become a little more . . ." He tried to recall the word Sam had used. "A little more fragile, I suppose. I won't force you to stay, but I think it would be wise if you remained here with me." He could feel his heart rate escalating, imagining having her around all the time. "I . . . I would feel better if you stayed at night, if you didn't explore, if you could be near me so I can help . . ."

She sighed. She didn't want to, and that made him wince a little. But her response shocked him.

"I'll stay."

He squeezed her close to him. "Every night?" He tried to reign in his hopes; perhaps she'd be too dismal all the time.

She nodded, and then turned to him with a jocose gleam in her eyes. "But if you so much as hold my hand, you're not going to fall asleep until insanely late. So you have to promise that I can kiss you and then you fall asleep. Deal, yes?"

 _Absolutely_. Frodo laid his head on her shoulder. He'd intended to lay his head on hers, but miscalculated where she sat; usually she slumped lower than he did, but they were the same height here. "Of course," he said, realizing he hadn't responded to her question. "You'll need sleep as it goes, anyway."

Sev nudged him, and warmth flared throughout his torso. "You've been listening to Sam too much." Then she paused, her voice growing a little bashful. "I'm glad you care about us, though." She laid her hand on her stomach, and Frodo settled his hand over it. He lifted away from her shoulder, pulling her in to rest her head on him.

He savored the warmth for probably a little under ten minutes before he could feel her fidgeting beneath his arm. He glanced down at her.

"Sev?"

"You're right. We should get you to bed." She stood. Frodo wondered why she didn't feel the same rush of affection he did; perhaps for the fact that she had loved him 12 years before he noticed.

"Sev—,"

"Oi?"

"You're staying here, aren't you?" Frodo stood and followed her. She paused, and he almost thought her next words would be just a little resentful. He winced . . . but when she turned her smile seemed bright, a little sheepish.

"Of course I will."

He almost wanted to ask her why she didn't like touching him very much. It worried him; Frodo hoped her affection for him didn't have a huge chance of fading. She wasn't predictable enough for him to tell, and try as they might no hobbit could entirely understand her head.

Sev didn't sit down by him, just stood back for a moment. He patted the empty space beside him, but she didn't seem to pick up on it. So he settled back, and she finally stepped out of her shadows.

"Now rest," she insisted. Frodo wondered if he could guess her thoughts right by thinking she just wanted him to rest . . . but then why avoid him for so many months? And resist affection when it came? He didn't understand.

As he laid back, Sev's fingers framed Frodo's face, sending shivers of warmth through him that he hadn't expected. Then she paused, and he felt the fabric over his shoulder fingered away. His eyes rolled back as the Morgul blackness began to recede. She kissed his forehead, and the tingles multiplied. Her lips found his, and every dark thought dissipated into nothingness at her gentle touch.

The blackness faded completely away, and she pulled back. Frodo suddenly felt cold, but didn't push it: it would be enough just to have hear near.

"I love you, my Frodo Baggins." Her fingers brushed through his hair, soothing his brain into a state of dizzy calm. "You devil."

The temptation to reach up and kiss her again flooded him, but he fought it for her sake. He could hear her settle on the bed as close to the edge as possible; he resisted the urge to sigh, rolling over to avoid at least trying to make conversation or take her hand. He didn't even have that small comfort to his credit, but at least she would stay.

Perhaps in the morning. His rest was uneasy, his dreams black fighting white to create a messy battlefield of gray.

A few uneventful months later, Sev lay still on the bed when Frodo awakened. Her stomach had grown significantly, and her affection—if anything—declined. Frodo sat up, then walked around to the other side of the bed. He'd always wondered what it felt like to wake someone up with a kiss before. He hadn't thought of it until Sev started doing it, but now, as he watched her sleeping peacefully, he wanted so badly to try it.

Would she react well? Doubtful, but Frodo felt a little optimistic despite the last few months of her sudden silence.

He knelt down beside the bed, cautious and a little frightened. Her lips stretched in an initial smile, but based on her deep breathing she hadn't awakened yet.

Frodo laid a hand on her shoulder, letting it travel to her waist. He cocked his head at where their little one had made himself known, feeling the stretched flesh and the new life within. Then Frodo glanced up at Sev's face. He traced her thick, curly hair back, letting it rest behind her ear as he neared it.

"Sev, you're under no obligation to stay for the day."

She muttered something unintelligible.

"Sev?"

She tossed under his hand, righting herself. Her opposite ear buried itself in the nearby pillow, and Frodo stifled a chuckle. For a moment he lost himself in her presence, the gentle face his lips had touched. He cupped her cheek in his hands, lightly brushed his lips to hers. Although there was no physical response, his brain lit up. He allowed his lips to touch her nose, and they took it from there, across her forehead, down on her cheek, back to her own lips, intensifying only very slightly as they went.

She finally kissed him back. She wrapped her hands around the back of his head, pulling him in a little bit. This shocked him; she hadn't kissed him in more than a peck since the night they got back from the Green Dragon.

As oftentimes happened, she broke it off, laying back down.

"I said I'm not going anywhere," she muttered. "I feel awful."

His thumb tenderly traced her face, and her eyes flickered open. A grin accompanied them. "I love you," she said, but then her head slacked back with a grimace.

"Sev?"

She shook her head, grasping her stomach. "I'm not going anywhere . . ." Her voice trailed off. "Never again . . ."

Frodo stood abruptly. "I'm going to find Sam." But before he could go anywhere, Sev's hand shot out from her side, and she grabbed Frodo's wrist desperately. Her grip loosened, and her fingers rubbed against his skin. He turned to her, more than mildly surprised. He relished in her touch, but didn't understand what brought on the sudden change.

"Please don't leave me." Her voice rose in pitch, lending her a naïve, somewhat tender air. Her eyes began to shimmer, and her eyebrows creased with fear and tearing hope. Frodo immediately knelt down.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm scared," she whispered, her eyes growing wider.

"Sev, I won't leave you," he said. He sat up on the bed, and she sidled into his lap. He held her close, felt her shiver. He wrapped the nearby blanket around her shoulders.

"It hurts." She bit her lip.

Frodo frowned. "Sev, are you sure you want to do this again?" He would resist if it caused her an uncontrollable level of pain.

She shook her head wildly, staring up at him. "Of course I do! Frodo, I want a family, and you'll want to do this again, I'm sure."

"Not if it's going to put you through so much pain." He paused. She hadn't leaped on the idea, so perhaps affection did matter to her in some way.

She buried her face in his chest. "Don't leave me."

"Sev, I'm not going anywhere." Frodo buried a kiss in her hair, and she tightened her hold on him. He felt the back of her neck with his hand; a fever spiked against her skin, and he flinched. Frodo tightened his embrace. He didn't know what this meant. "You have a fever. Are you okay?" He felt the little one within kick at him, then realized he could feel Sev breathing harder and harder.

Once she fell asleep he laid her in the living room on a couch, then sent for Sam. Sev had awakened without him, and when he and the Gamgees came racing back to Bag End he could hear her yelling his name in a frenzy. He slammed the door open, dashed to Sev's side. She faced away from him at first, but as he entered she strained to roll over and face him. Rosie handed him a damp cloth for the fever.

"Frodo?" she muttered. Then she began to shake uncontrollably, shuddering and convulsing. She began to choke. Rosie gasped, and Sam pulled her back to keep her from panicking. Frodo leaped forward, dabbing Sev's forehead.

"Rosie says it's time," he insisted. Then he felt her forehead again, shaking his own head. "Sev, you're feverish." He grabbed her hand and threw it over his shoulder as Sam and Rosie ran to get water and towels, or something to that effect. Frodo could only half hear them. Frodo felt the relief in his body as his cold poison drained through Sev's warmth . . . but judging by how much blood she would have to lose, the poison would not be enough. He'd have to sacrifice some of his own blood. And he wanted to.

Sev shuddered, and Frodo watched as his red blood began to enter her fingers.

"Frodo, he's not going to make it!" Sev cried. Her eyes squeezed shut. She gritted her teeth, shaking her head.

Frodo set his own jaw, tears threatening at the pain of his entire family on the couch before him. He gripped her hand to his shoulder. "No. You'll both be fine," he insisted. Even if he had to sacrifice his own blood it would be done. Sev cocked her head as the last of the poison drained away, and then her eyes shot open. Frodo slammed her hand down in place when she tried to move it.

"No . . ." she muttered, straining weakly to pull away. She started yanking, but she couldn't move. "Frodo, let me go." Her voice grew insistent, afraid. "Frodo!"

"Sev, you'll be fine," Frodo persisted. He did it only because he knew she was concerned for him, but she didn't seem to care that both she and Frodo's son were going to die if he didn't do this.

"Not if you're drained—Frodo!" Sev snapped back with a huge convulsion, and Frodo felt the energy in her palm broken away from him. He could feel consciousness departing quickly. He swayed with sudden weakness, and he crashed to the floor, invoking of any higher powers he knew to keep Sev and the little hobbit alive through all of this.

He could hear Sev crying out, but try as he might his body would not let him move. Sam's arms wrapped around him, dragged him up onto a nearby couch.

"Mr. Frodo, what's happened to you?" Sam asked worriedly.

Frodo found he could not reply. He'd given Sev a lot of his blood, but at least his would come back. Her screams still haunted him as they continued, until she shouted his name one last time . . . and went horribly quiet. Frodo finally slipped away.

When Frodo awakened, the sight he saw almost caused him to black out again. Sev lay still and pale on the couch, her breathing slowed but harsh. The baby had not emerged yet. Rosie laid fresh towels everywhere, and although he evidently wasn't meant to see it, Frodo watched as Sam carried piles of already blood-drenched cloths and set them in a basket behind the couch, possibly for Sev to drain later.

Then the convulsions began again, and Sev writhed, crying out harshly. Some of his blood and subsequent strength had retured, so Frodo jolted to his feet, but swayed on them.

"Sev!" He leaped forward, but Sam held him back.

"Sam, let me go!" Frodo watched, struggling immensely. But Sam was solid, and hadn't lost any sort of blood that day, and so held him back rather easily. Despite doing what he could, poor Sam didn't realize the effect Sev's labor would have on Frodo . . . and so Frodo watched, helpless, heart surging with the pleading desire to nothing more than help, as more blood was lost and the messy child emerged not how a typical one should have, flooding his unconscious mother with unnatural pain. Frodo had to look away as tears flowed down his face. His child's flesh was empty; very little blood, despite Sev's best efforts, actually made it in to her son's body. Most spilled onto the ground.

Rosie's mutter awakened warning bells in Frodo's ears, and he felt his entire system begin to shut down with dread. "This is not good." Rosie never talked like that. "This is really not good." She began wrapping the little Baggins in another clean towel, but as soon as that one soaked through she hurriedly grabbed another. "Sam, get Frodo out of here. There's nothing he can do for them now." She looked at Frodo apologetically, but he could only see a little of her face through his tears.

Sam clamped his arms around Frodo, lifting him up. "Sev!" Frodo struggled, but he could do nothing. Sev's deathlike, calm expression faded from his sight as Sam marched him out the door, down the walk, and all the way to the Gamgees'.

Gaffer and Sam both had to fight to keep Frodo inside. It was a strange energy that drove Frodo, one he never wanted to feel again. He didn't have the feeling the emotions and strains were his own, as though some other being were acting through him as he shoved up against his own friend, trying to break free.

Finally, though, his own mindset broke through, and he collapsed to one knee.

"Sam . . ."

Sam knelt down beside him and embraced him. Frodo had gotten so used to being in Sev's arms that this made him feel a little bit homesick, then a little afraid. He might never feel her again. He worried for her obstinacy; he had a way to keep her alive by sacrificing himself, but he didn't know if she would let him. He could prevent the rest of his family from dying. They would live fatherless, but he wouldn't watch either of them suffer when he could do something.

"Sam, I could have helped," he whispered, his eyes slipped closed. Sam had nothing to say for a moment, just held Frodo a little harder.

"I know, Mr. Frodo," he said. "I know you want to do everything you can . . . but sometimes you've got to let the woman you love handle things on her own."

"She does everything, Sam," Frodo said slowly. The last few months had been different, but Sev almost seemed adamant that Frodo let her do anything she could. Not to inconvenience him, she said, but he wondered if that was the true motive. Frodo remembered—tears pricking at his eyes—when she'd finally given in to letting him do what he would. While not as affectionate as Frodo would have liked, Sev pecked any part of him she could reach whenever he did something for her: his foot if necessary, usually his hand or his face. Then she would thank him and fall unconscious again. He had never thought to embrace those moments, fearing for her day and night.

But now his fears had come to a certain rise, one he never would have wanted to see. One he'd expected, this being the very reason he gave Sev his own blood the day before. And he could do it again.

Rosie burst in the door, carrying a little bundle. Frodo shot to his feet. Rosie sent Elanor to grab more blood-soaked towels. She handed the little one to Frodo without any ceremony at all and rushed right back out the door.

Frodo backed away. He could only half hear Sam saying his name as he sat down. The little one's lungs had opened, and Frodo could see traces of blood in the baby's system. He pulled back the fabric surrounding the boy's face.

The black mass of hair and the overall features seemed to resemble Frodo, but when the little one's eyes opened Frodo bit back Sev's name building up in his throat. The boy had her eyes, with the black veins and everything. When he saw Frodo he lit up and began to giggle.

Frodo smiled initially and brought the little one up over his shoulder. He turned back to Sam.

"Sam, I have to go to her."

Sam shrugged. "Well, you'd have your whole family then, Mr. Frodo. I'm sure Rosie wouldn't mind now."

Rosie burst through the door again. "Sev just wants to hold him once."

Frodo stood. "What do you mean, once? Rosie?"

Rosie shook her head. "Frodo, look at him." She gestured to the small hobbit. Frodo looked down. While the boy had a smile on his face, he looked weak. His eyelids fluttered, and when he yawned he strained to move. Rosie fingered aside the fabric covering his toes; Frodo could see them shriveled, lacking in blood or substance.

"This is bad," she whispered. "And Sev is faring little better. One or both will die today, Mr. Frodo." She inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry."

Frodo shook his head. "You've done everything you could, Rosie." The baby wriggled, and his fingers poked out of the fabric. Thin, bloodless little fingers. Frodo slipped his own into their grip.

 _You will live. You and your mother; I promise._

Frodo turned to Rosie. "Rosie, I need you to promise me something."

Rosie cocked her head.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly; his dying wish. He hoped it didn't sound like a dying wish. No one need know he wouldn't survive this, except for perhaps Sev. "No matter what happens, I need you to keep Sev alive. Every day go to Bag End with a fresh cut, a deep one if you can, and let Sev touch you until it's healed."

"She's explained the process to me," Rosie said slowly. "But Mr. Frodo, you're the healthiest of anyone in your family. I think she'll die sooner than you do."

Frodo shook his head. "Perhaps." He hesitantly parted from his child, handed the little one to Rosie. "I'm going to go see her."

"Tell her I'm coming!" Rosie called out. "She probably wants to give her son a bit more blood before—," She trailed off. Frodo turned back for her to finish, but she shook her head. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she cupped her jaw in her spare hand as she turned away from him. Sam embraced her, ready to sob himself.

Sev would not die. Frodo would see to that.

He dashed away from the Gamgees', back to Bag End. He still hadn't regained a sufficient amount of blood, but he ran regardless. Sev had no time. He remembered as he raced up the walk to his home that a pneumonia streak had been going around. Sev had probably caught it, and that only brought her closer to death than anything.

He stepped inside, then spotted her on the couch. His heart caught when he saw her eyes open.

"How much did you let me drain yesterday?" she muttered, her eyes flickering.

Frodo shrugged, shaking. She was alive. "I'm not sure." He knelt down next to the couch and grabbed her hand, savoring the warm touch he would miss so intently when he died. To his surprise Sev allowed it, actually taking his hand in her other one. She leaned forward with great exertion and brushed her lips against his knuckles.

When she began to sit back, Frodo looked up and saw her legs, pale and empty. His eyes widened, and he stroked them slowly.

"Sev! You don't have enough blood to supply him . . . much less yourself."

She shook her head. "What's left in me should be enough to keep me alive."

 _Don't say things like that, Sev. You're going to be all right._ "But not you." _I won't lose you._ He leaned forward and took her face in his hands. Perhaps he would never touch her again. His breathing escalated a little as his nose brushed against hers. Tingles traveled through his face; he could hardly think. "Sev, I'm not going to lose you. I'm not going to lose either of you."

She shook her head, and Frodo desperately held back the expression he felt building up inside of him, leaning forward to kiss her but knowing she wanted to speak. He had to pull away four times before he finally conceded to let his lips right near her own. "There's only enough between Will and me to keep one of us alive, Frodo. There's nothing more you can do."

Her hopelessness cut him like a blade, but he had one more shot at this. He desperately closed the gap between them, kissed her with everything he had. She moaned under her breath, but responded just as deeply. Through his muddle Frodo caught her hands with his and pulled them cautiously up to his drained wounds. A lurch overtook him as the empty scars resisted, but he finally began supplying Sev with what she needed. He deepened the kiss to numb himself from the growing pain, the swaying weakness. To his shock she actually responded . . . as though she expected this to be her last chance.

Frodo trembled as he pulled away from her. She didn't move her hands; she looked equally stunned. But her eyes shot wide open when she saw him. "Frodo? Frodo!'

He shook his head; his voice was raspy and only half existent. "I'm not going to lose you. I love you, Sev." His shaking hands stroked her face tenderly. "Take care of him." The last thing he felt was his lips brushing hers for the final time.

Frodo could feel life returning to him through pressure over his heart. He almost relished in the hungry way life trickled back into his body, until he realized what it meant. His eyes flickered open to see Sev standing over him, her eyes flooding with tears. She breathed with relief.

"And I love you too, Frodo. You won't lose him." She pecked his lips and leaped away. It took a few minutes for the blood to rise to Frodo's head, and he suddenly understood what had just happened.

"Sev! No!" He jolted to his feet, but he didn't get very far before he collapsed. He breathed hard, shoving himself up on his hands. Rosie walked in then; the little hobbit in her arms mumbled, tossing a little bit, as though some deeper intelligence resided inside him, trying to break out.

Rosie put a gentle hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Frodo, where is she?"

"Rosie, don't let her have him. She's going to kill herself saving him. I at least have to talk to her first." Rosie grabbed his upper arm and helped him to his feet. They both walked out the door, but soon Rosie let go of Frodo to keep a hold on the little one.

Frodo extended his arms. "I'll take him."

Rosie looked shocked. "Now see here, Mr. Frodo, you're too weak to hold yourself up, much less him! I'll take care of him until we get there. Where would she have gone?"

Frodo glanced around, and finally he could see her, stumbling with a walking stick ahead of her. She sank to the ground.

"There," Frodo said. Then he turned back to Rosie. "Maybe you ought to tell her she should support herself before trying to help as well. She won't listen to me."

"Because she's obstinate," Rosie responded.

Frodo nodded slowly. "I know."

"And she's obstinate enough to have her child with her; there's nothing you can do to keep her from saving him."

"Rosie, she'll kill herself."

Sev collapsed, then turned back to them. She eyed Rosie's arms almost ravenously, and a dangerous light glittered through her eyes. Frodo watched as her fingers tensed; something within her wanted to save her child so badly, probably just to be rid of itself, be rid of Sev.

Rosie jumped right to the point before Sev could grab the little hobbit. "Frodo is telling me you plan to sacrifice all of your blood giving it to him; is this true?"

Sev's eyes darkened. "Yes. But it's for a greater cause. Rosie, give me my child, please."

Rosie stepped back, and Sev stood abruptly. Frodo moved to grab her, but she seemed dangerous. She slipped away from him, eyeing his hands and clutching her own. "As though you're any less guilty. I still have your blood within me."

She looked hurt; Frodo didn't understand. "At least mine will provide itself with more. You will die if you do this, Sev."

For a moment she almost looked like she could concede . . . but then she pointed at the rustling bundle of fabric. "But he will die if I don't!" The exclamation sapped her strength, and she sank backward, about ready to fall over. Frodo grabbed her shoulders, gently bringing her to the ground with him. Her warmth settled him, and he let his hands trace her arm. Such a lovely thing; he wouldn't watch her die. He reached for her hands, but she folded them into her sleeves stubbornly.

"Sev, I'll let you heal him if you take more blood from me," Frodo insisted. "It won't work any other way."

"But you'll die!" Sev's voice cracked as she surveyed him. She nestled against his chest, as though begging him to live, to listen to her. But her movement only drove him to keep her safe.

Frodo nodded slowly. "If you die first, I will soon follow and he will be left with no parents."

Sev gawked at him; he knew what she would say. "As if it wouldn't happen of the reverse! If you die I have no sustenance, Frodo Baggins."

He shook his head. "Rosie has offered to keep you alive with whatever wounds she can. Perfectly supplied, Sev, not only relying on me for sustenance. Life will be better that way." He tried to sound convincing.

Somehow it worked. Sev nodded reluctantly, then relaxed. Her eyes flooded with tears, but Frodo actually felt a small breath of relief deep within him as her hand slipped up to his scar, and she pressed her palm against him. He thought she might at least want to say goodbye to him . . . but she didn't. Something was wrong. Her head laid against his heart, but she didn't protest anything.

Frodo's vision began to fizzle. Rosie set the little hobbit down in Sev's arms, and Frodo wrapped his arms around his family. He wouldn't have them for very much longer. But Sev didn't look up when her child tried to get her attention, worrying Frodo. She just lay numb. Frodo lowered his lips to her ear.

"Sev, look." Sev turned to look at him, but he nodded his head at the little hobbit in her arms. She removed her hand from his shoulder—a look of relief crossed her when she let go—and glanced down at her little one. She fingered the fabric aside. She inhaled sharply, backing into Frodo's chest.

Frodo studied her, memorized her features as she did the same to her child. Frodo's gaze flickered between his son's and his wife's eyes. The boy wriggled, and his fingers poked out. They were more fleshed out, but he wasn't healthy enough to survive. He grabbed his mother's hand, and Frodo held her free one. He felt a channeling of strength between him and his son, both willing to do anything to keep Sev alive. But the divide—of whether or not Frodo or the child should live—separated them.

The child's huge, Sev-like eyes caught Frodo's, and the former laughed excitedly. Sev choked back a sob, and Frodo traced his fingers over the back of her hand. Sev stiffened in Frodo's grasp, and her eyes grew glazed over. Frodo and Rosie watched, not sure whether to be horrified or concerned, as black pulsing spread throughout Sev's fingers. From what Frodo could see, his family fought itself, both members before him determined to keep the rest of the family alive as Sev tried to offer her child blood and he refused it. Although they were only a day old as a group, they were tighter together in love than Frodo had ever felt before.

Finally the child's eyes flickered to Frodo. Frodo could see his son, in his mind . . . grown. He looked like Frodo, albeit a little more on the dominant, athletic side. He had wide shoulders, darker skin (it made no sense; neither Sev nor Frodo had a dark complexion at all), and black blood framing dark blue eyes.

 _Father, I'm going now. I've talked to my mother, and she'll be all right._ He grinned. _But I'll always be your Will; don't try to save me. I won't take blood from Mother, and I have over a dozen siblings waiting for you two. I love you both. And Mom loves you more than you know._ He clapped his father's shoulder, and his eyes watered as he backed away, fading into the depths of Frodo's otherworldly vision.

Tears sprang to Frodo's eyes, and he held Sev close as the life of little Will Baggins faded away.

"His name was Will?" Frodo asked when the intial shock raced away.

Will's eyes closed peacefully, and Sev nodded slowly. She shuddered; Frodo tightened his hold. "Yes," she whispered. "And we have to carry on."

Her words carried no hope, but Frodo knew they had no choice.

Rosie admitted Sev had pneumonia, but draining Frodo had helped her recover. Frodo got it soon after, and the moment Will was buried in the cemetary right next to Seville Gamgee Frodo fell to the ground, weakened. He had 60 percent of his blood left, and probably would not easily resist a sickness. He cut back sorrow at the possibility of being too weak for Sev.

Then he realized, as he descended into blackness, that he didn't want to see Sev go through so much pain again. But they lost Will for the chance to start over; perhaps the sacrifice would not be so great next time.

He awakened aching with the sudden rush of blood through his system. He groaned, rolling over in bed. He heard Sev's feet smacking against the floor. His Morgul stab tingled, and the poison drained away. She grabbed his hand, and warmth fizzled against him . . . warmth he hadn't registered since he fell unconscious at the funeral but had felt hundreds of times since then, somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Frodo!" Her fingers stroked his face. He breathed harder, trying to awaken and see her face before him. "Frodo, please be all right." Her fingertips fluttered over his features. He tried to reach up and kiss them, and they settled against his lips. He relaxed. "Please wake up."

He tried to speak, but could only cough. Rattles shook his lungs, and pressure caved in on all sides. He almost crunched himself into a ball with the length of the coughing fit.

"Frodo!" Sev sat upright and cupped his face with her fingers. Finally his eyes flickered open. "Frodo, you're awake!" Sev's arms wrapped around his shoulders, and she brought him up into her arms. While tender about it, she held him tightly, and he allowed the warmth to numb him. But something still bothered him. While he loved having her near now, the moment he departed from danger she would become physically secluded again.

"Sev . . ." he began.

"You're sick." Her words brushed his ear as she rubbed his back. He felt another cough coming on, but did his best to cage it. He trembled with the onslaught of reaction in his body. Sev laid him back down, but when he did not cough she pressed her palms to his chest. He began coughing just a little, but it faded fast under her touch. She brought a damp rag to his forehead, heated by her flesh.

"You devil, you brought this on yourself." She bit her lip, refusing to meet his eyes that he strained to keep open. "Will didn't survive, and I know you did all you could. But don't scare me like that! You matter more than anything to me, and I wouldn't bear losing you. As if I thought the Ring was dangerous! If you died you'd somehow do it trying to protect me. But Frodo, you can't keep sacrificing yourself like this, if not for your sake more than for mine. All right, so it's selfish of me to wish that I had died, but I could have left Will alive. I don't know how much better or worse your life would have been." Frodo felt despair overcoming him; she wanted to be dead. Perhaps she'd been planning this since she knew she was pregnant, when he'd noticed her backing away in affection . . . when she stopped enjoying her nights at Bag End. "You both are so obstinate! Trying to save lives when you two are the valuable ones, the ones with light in your eyes. Did you see his face? Bright, just like yours. Nothing will rip that light away from this world, not while I'm around. I guess my whole point is your caution has gotten you here. I guess maybe you think this the better alternative as it is . . ."

Frodo inhaled slowly, almost saying perhaps she ought to go die and let him pass away in peace as well. Her despair clawed at him.

"Sev . . ."

Finally she turned her eyes to him, although she looked hesitant. Frodo kept his eyes on hers, wondering if she would be happier gone. He wanted to do what would make her the least miserable, for it seemed he could do nothing to make her happy now. He didn't know how long she would mourn Will's loss.

But he felt optimism creeping up on him. Perhaps a smile from him could help her. "I'm glad you're with me." He breathed it out in a semi-sigh. Sev bit her lip, and her eyes closed. A pang attacked Frodo's heart.

"I am too," she admitted finally.

Frodo felt defensive words building up in his system. "You don't seem like it. You almost sound like you'd rather be dead than here with me." He almost spat out his words, had he any anger to express . . . but no such thing. Only remorse, pain.

"No!" Sev reached for him. "I just wish Will had lived." She shook her head. "Apparently that was his decision. Frodo, I could do nothing. But I tried everything."

Frodo didn't know what to think. She obviously loathed her very existence for letting her son die. She didn't want to be here, not even with Frodo. Will had said she loved Frodo more than anything—but he still had his doubts. She despised herself more than she loved anything.

"Oh, Frodo." Her fingers traced his cheek. He felt nothing from it; emptiness attacked him. "You did everything to keep us both alive, me and Will. But I knew I wouldn't live without you . . . couldn't." She picked up his hand and brushed her lips across it between words. Tingles illuminated him, but he shut them down. She didn't want it. "I wanted to let the two of you survive. But Will was right; it would have limited the family to be rid of either of us. This way there is a new start to everything."

She didn't sound hopeful at all. And Frodo couldn't shake the idea that she couldn't let go of her past, of her faults, long enough to love him.

"What is it, Frodo? Please, I want to help."

He rationalized the pneumonia wasn't helping him to think clearly. He shook his head. "I just need some time," he said.

Sev bit her lip as though stung, but it took a moment for her to react to his words. She must have been thinking something. She nodded slowly, and the pain departed her eyes, replaced with a numb glare.

She kissed his forehead, and her hands shivered against his. "I'll leave you, then." She pulled away from him, and he almost asked her to stay for the lack of warmth that suddenly overcame him then. Her next words were so dark that they haunted him: "Goodbye, Frodo."

They sounded like a final farewell; Frodo didn't understand. He sat up to speak, but she whisked out the door before any words formed.

He sat back in bed, beginning to process. For the most part he found himself getting caught in a loophole, wondering to himself, needing answers he couldn't attain by thoughts alone. He wondered if he ought to talk to her, if she would tell him anything he wanted to know. She'd been adamant about not wishing to die, and then turned around and said she wished Will had survived. Was he missing something?

 _Father, you have no time!_ Will's voice was urgent, and Frodo's head shot up. He felt his fever recede at the hand of the spirit of his son. Will, his eyes glowing with dangerous impatience, stepped into the room. Frodo could see him materialize.

 _I'm going to get Rosie,_ Will said, _but I'm going to clarify something for you first, and then you're going to be distressed that I stalled: Mother was just trying to protect us. She's a mother! Mothers would do anything for their children. They stop thinking about themselves long enough to provide for family. She would sacrifice anything for any one of us, regardless of how she feels for herself. Father, she loves you more than you know. Don't forget it. Although, it would be nice if she'd accept herself for once._

Then his expression grew dark. _Father, she's attempting to kill herself, thinking you don't want her, that you would be happier without her._ He rolled his eyes. _Obstinate and unpredictable. Getting rid of herself for you—that makes no sense at all._

Frodo shot up in bed. "What?"

 _I'm getting Rosie,_ Will said impatiently. _Stay here and think on what I have said._ With that he slipped away again.

Frodo buried his face in his palms. Obstinate, unpredictable woman. He felt like he would have enjoyed having Will there, as though it would have made life easier in the way of Sev simply because Will seemed to understand his frustration.

His mind switched gears immediately. Sev. Killing herself. He didn't want to know by what methods; all he knew was that he didn't want to find her dead, by methods of stabbing, hanging, or drowning. Images of her dead form cracked on him, broke against his mind like panes of thick glass that cut after they were shattered.

 _Please let her be all right._ Frodo waited, his heart throbbing, for his strength to return. He grew too restless, and before he could likely even walk without falling over he rolled out of the bed and sprang to his feet, turning for the door.

Sam and Rosie burst in just then.

"Mr. Frodo, what's happened?" Rosie asked urgently. "We heard you calling out for Sev all the way from Gaffer's."

He gathered Will had done that. He shook his head and grabbed Sam's shoulders. "Sam, Sev is trying to kill herself."

Rosie gasped. "Where is she?"

Frodo shook his head. "I have no idea. That's why I'm going to go find her." He turned to go out the door, but Sam looped an arm around him and easily held him back.

Rosie frowned. "No. You're going to get some rest and be healthy for when she comes back. _I'm_ going to go find her." She flew out the door, urgency marking her steps probably more than would have been expected.

"Sam, let me go." Frodo elbowed against Sam, urgently trying to break free and find Sev.

"Mr. Frodo, Rosie's got it all covered," Sam said gently. "Sev will be fine."

"Please, Sam, let me go!" Distress clouded Frodo's mind as he realized Rosie might have been too late. He wanted to do nothing more than help, at least see Sev before she faded away, at least ask her—even if the question would be vain—not to leave him. He finally surprised Sam enough to lurch away, and his knee cracked against the floor. He bit back a cry of pain.

Sam grabbed him and lifted him to his feet. "Mr. Frodo, please come lay down!"

"Sam, Will said she's going to kill herself." Frodo turned for the door, but it opened just then. Sev leaped inside, almost fully slammed into Frodo. He fell back, but she grabbed his hands to keep him up. Sam came up behind him, helped Sev stand him on his feet.

"Sev?" Frodo felt relief wash over him at the feel of her skin between his fingers. Sev didn't seem to care at all; her gaze flickered to his knee, then to Sam. The latter just nodded to her somewhat sheepishly and backed away, clicking the door to Bag End shut behind him.

"Frodo, lie down." Sev sounded afraid.

Frodo grabbed her shoulders, feeling her beneath his hands. He couldn't believe she would just walk out on him like that, so quickly and spontaneously. He didn't know how to ensure she would never do it again.

"Sev, why would you?" His words slipped out uncertainly. There was just so much to ask, so much to say to make sure she never tried it again. "Why would you leave me?"

Sev bit her lip. "You sounded—," She swallowed, and her eyes finally met his, setting in bitter determination. "You sounded upset with me, disappointed. I thought—I thought I'd failed you, and I didn't want to hurt you anymore. Or any of the rest of them."

"Sev . . ." He pulled her into his arms, shuddering with the sudden onslaught of what had just happened, of what could happen again if a slight trigger he himself had no control over was pulled. He only hoped he would recognize this when it happened. Tears pricked at his eyes; Sev held him tighter. Sorrow dripped from his face and soaked into Sev's shoulder; she gasped.

"Oh, Frodo, you devil!" The sound of her voice cut him off, and he froze. "You blue-eyed, wonderful devil. I'm so sorry."

Frodo never wanted to worry that he would lose her again. His arms gathered her close, shielding her from whatever part of herself could be so sadistic and hateful to take her away from him.

"I love you," she said. "I hope you know that."

Frodo swallowed. He wanted to know that, but sometimes he wondered if she loved him as much as she wanted to love anyone. "You just frightened me," he said.

She snickered, sounded a little bitter: she knew how solemn the situation was, and she was leaving her reaction open to interpretation, likely enough. "Well, you did it first. Getting pneumonia like that." Some cold note held her voice, as though she cursed the pneumonia. Her hands prodded him lovingly. "Just be careful, all right?"

Frodo let his fingers caress her back, her shoulders. He could feel a little physical initiative taking over at her sincerity, although he didn't want to break again beneath its emotional weight if and when she cut physical affection off altogether. And yet . . . and yet he couldn't help himself. His cheek met hers on the way back; she had initiated that one, leaning her face to meet his own for when he broke their embrace. She was soft—he kissed her cheek lightly. Then he cupped her face with his opposite hand, brushing endless kisses against her. As he did so her kisses brushed his own cheek. He brought his lips to hers, gently at first. Then he pressed it a little more, not much, enough that warmth broke into him, enough that he got to the emotional pitch where he never wanted the kiss to break.

Of course, she ended it first. He pulled her into his embrace and continued to dot her face with reserved kisses; he didn't want to frighten her away, but there was a lot to take in, a lot to express. She halted him after a moment, flattening her palms against his shoulders.

"Will spoke to you?" She didn't sound bitter, just a little shocked.

He nodded. "And you?"

She shook her head. "The youngest did . . . Ebony."

"Ebony?" He paused. She wanted more children. Now that she had seen another spirit of them Frodo had no doubt they couldn't turn back. "Sev, I don't know if you're ready. I don't know if I'm ready to get so close to losing you again." For the billionth time since I've met you.

"She says it's time," Sev persisted stubbornly. "Frodo, you've got to trust me." She released herself from his arms and walked over to the fireplace. Frodo followed, watched as she trembled while she set a small meal at the table. She probably wouldn't eat anything.

"You're sick," she said finally. Then she looked up at him; her eyes shivered with fear. "Ebony said I can help."

Somehow Frodo's interests managed to take over, and he sat down immediately, hoping Sev was implying sticking around. A dark blush crept onto her face; oftentimes she didn't seem to know whether to appreciate the attention or not. She didn't open her eyes as she pushed a bowl of soup to him. He didn't look down, didn't look away from her, waiting for her explanation, to make her words obvious.

To his surprise, she shrugged. "I don't know what else more you want me to say, Frodo."

He mulled over this for a moment. "Say you're excited."

Sev's eyes widened, and one eyebrow raised. "Excited?"

He remembered what Will had told him. "You're doing everything for me, for our future family. For once feel like you're doing something for you, Sev; you're creating a family because you want one. And you're staying here at Bag End because you wish to, not only for the benefit of your family." He cautiously slipped his hands over hers; she seemed to falter a little bit, eyeing his hands with some form of wistful desire. Frodo tenderly stroked her knuckles. "So tonight we do what you wish to do. We don't jump right into it. We sit up and read if you wish, I go to sleep and you pace if you wish . . . we dance all night if you wish."

Sev sounded jocose. "Frodo, can you handle that?"

He nodded assertively. "If you can heal me tonight—well, I've been sleeping for a week and would just like to spend a night with you." He looked up at her eyes. "With my Sev Baggins."

Pleasure stole over her, and he felt a little triumphant. He studied her as she stood with a settled grin on her face. The setting sun lit up her hair like a fire. He wondered why he'd never noticed the golden streaks in it that illuminated the red curtains around them.

Sev brought him over to the couch and sat him down. "So I'm not taking anything very deep tonight,"—Frodo sighed a little, having been afraid of that—"but we might as well start with this . . . just to ensure you're well enough to be here."

Anticipatory of the intensity Sev could compact into one small, light stroke of affection, Frodo sidled up to her and let his eyes slip closed. Her hand drifted over his shoulder, pressing through the fabric. The Morgul poison, now gathered with traces of pneumonia, drained through her palm. Frodo relished in the warmth, warmth that drained his pain and allowed Sev's affection to trickle through him.

Her fingers rubbed on his shoulders, and her forehead met his own. Frodo let the warmth claim him. She didn't have to do anything, and he could still feel it all. She pressed her lips to his forehead, and shivers traveled through him. Her kiss in his hair sent his head spinning. Her kisses came to his face slowly, carefully. Quickly they became more tender, more initial, a little more sincere. She inhaled, carefully stroking his face with her thumb.

Frodo could feel the last of the poison falling out, but he didn't want to let her go just yet. She had promised to stay, but he had also promised to let her do what she would while here. Perhaps she would go read, send him to bed on the note that he could be tired. But he felt better than he had since Sev started her pregnancy, since she'd stopped draining him. He didn't open his eyes to frame her face with his hands, and he didn't have to open his eyes to brush her lips with his own. Warmth trickled through him like electricity, tickling his fingers and his feet and the ends of his curls. He pulled her close to him, and although the kiss was not deep having her involved all the way with him pulled a moan from within.

She didn't break away, in fact remained long after he expected her to. Eventually he had to breathe, and so he pulled back. She waited, didn't even seem desperate to leave.

"I was afraid I'd lost you," she said under her breath, kissing his jaw. Then she stood slowly. "You said something about dancing earlier?"

A smirk rose to her face at his nod. She started by singing folk songs, which he joined in for. She apparently had a long duration of energy, somehow, because they stayed awake the whole night. She let him rest when she thought he needed it, but admittedly he felt fine.

His favorite moments came closest to the morning. The full moon descended towards the horizon, and Sev finally looked a little more sentimental than usual with the white light beaming across her figure and the white fabric sweeping over her. She'd stepped away to let him rest, but now he came back to her. Sev glanced up at him, watching his eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and as her head laid against his she began humming a melody Pippin had written. Frodo held her to him by the waist and followed, swaying lightly on his feet as the haunting song filled the quiet air around them.

Nearly a year later, his birthday came about again. The night before he'd started doing what he'd gotten in the habit of doing: sighing himself into an uncomfortable rest. Since the night they danced together, Sev's anxious enthusiasm, torn by the pain she'd felt and how she psychologically viewed her desire for affection as a selfish thing, for having a family began to grow. And yet she somehow managed, through her exhaustion and physical preparation, to associate with Frodo often. He felt the bond between them grow stronger, and as lack of consciousness forced her away from him he felt the pang of missing her swelling within him.

The night before his birthday, Sev looked about ready to explode. She insisted the child was oversized, and it certainly seemed that way.

"Frodo, I'm going to Rosie's. I don't want to wake you up; it's going to happen tonight." While he could hear the urgency in her voice, he wasn't awake enough to process. He'd been awake the past three or four nights making sure nothing happened to Sev, and she told him he needed to be awake for his birthday regardless of what happened to her. He assumed she meant unless she reached the brink of dying . . . but when he brought it up she didn't speak of it.

Frodo nodded dizzily. He tried to keep his eyes open, but a yawn forced them closed.

Sev chuckled. "I love you," she said. Warmth penetrated Frodo's shoulder, and the poison retreated from him into Sev's bloodstream. She rubbed a little bit, and he almost blacked out entirely. She gently touched her lips to his before departing.

At first the night seemed to blur by, and Frodo lingered on the border of sleep; nervousness kept him awake, but his body couldn't take it anymore. Somehow he managed to get intermittent rest. If Sev said the birth would happen tonight, it most certainly would. Then, a little after what seemed to be midnight, he felt a flare in his heart, as though some part of him had just left. After that, though, his anxiety waned, and he finally slipped into a solid sleep.

Something initial ignited in the back of his head when he heard the door creak open. Frodo felt a sudden rise of anticipation swell within him, but he shoved it back down, still half tangled in sleep. He allowed himself to begin drifting away . . . and then a familiar shiver of warmth, starting at his hand, flickered up his arm.

Sev's lips claimed his fingertips, one by one. When she reached the bitten finger, she lingered there, stroking it, before she kissed the back of his hand slowly. Every kiss sent shivers of warmth up Frodo's arm, and still being only partially awake he couldn't quite catch on through the fog of sleep.

"Good morning, Frodo," she murmured; he jolted awake when her lips met his jaw, and kisses dotted his cheek and nose, followed by the rest of his face. "Happy birthday."

"Indeed it is." He slipped out of sleep and reached for her. His lips caught hers, but he was too far away to do much. The kiss lasted a moment, and as he kissed her again and again he grew closer to her. He pulled her into his arms, and she relaxed. Frodo took that as an opportunity to kiss the rest of her face as he felt necessary. He couldn't have her enough. His hand laid over her stomach . . . and he stiffened when he realized it was small again.

"Sev, what happened?" She hadn't sounded upset when she walked in.

"Happy birthday," she said again. Frodo's eyes flickered open.

"Boy or girl?"

Sev shrugged. "Why not both?" She laughed. "Frodo, there were—are—two of them! Peregrine and Rosie Baggins; what do you think?"

He laughed right along with her. "Sev, two of them!"

She embraced him. "Happy birthday. Come on, today will be exciting." And he knew that, so he nodded, but he didn't want to stand just yet.

"Not quite," he said timidly. "A few more moments, Sev?"

She paused and turned to him. "It's your day for the taking, Frodo. What is it?"

He blushed, and his fingers traced her back. He slowly pulled her closer to his chest. "I feel like . . . well, like spending the morning kissing you, Sev. I don't mind if you feel like doing it out there, but I want nothing more today." He laid her head on his shoulder, and then his head over hers. "Nothing deeper."

"There certainly has been a lack since the pregnancy started, hasn't there?" She trembled excitedly in his arms, which surprised him. "Well, what are you waiting for, you devil?"

The invitation trapped him in her eyes. Frodo's fingertips traced her gentle features, and he made a note to kiss every one of them. The brush of her soft lips against his made his head swim, and it reminded him of the day he made Sev a Baggins. Still locked in her kiss, he swept her to her feet and didn't let go.


End file.
